Season of the Archer
by Patchyman
Summary: Tamor is a young mouse who wants nothing more than to follow the footsteps of his hero, Tamdril, a great archer. But with the armies of Zalluk Bloodfang advancing, something may hold him back.
1. Chapter 1  Shame of the fallen

Hey everybody, this is my first fanfic here, so constructive criticism and tips are always appreciated. Now, a little preface.

Yes, I know the whole concept of Tamor's 'condition' is a little weird, and could be seen as stupid, but I draw much of this from personal experience. So just bear that in mind. Also, this didn't originally start as a Redwall fanfic, but kind of an adaptation of it. The original story was a town instead of the Abbey, and some other stuff has been changed as well.

Anyway, Brian Jacques owns Redwall and I don't, so please don't sue me.

* * *

Summer's sun had turned the fields gold, sparkling with flecks of intensity and beauty not seen for many seasons. The blue sky was broken only by the occasional wisp of cloud, moving gently across the western sky. The breeze moved flowers and trees in their eternal dance of grace, swaying just so.

The bright rays filtered through the dense grove of trees just half a league from the fields. Each one twinkling with the forest's dust and life, seeming to have its own spark of beauty.

Something flickered between trees, moving like a living shadow. The only sound was a swishing of fabric, hidden by the chirping of birds and groaning of the ancient trees.

Suddenly, it stopped, pausing in the shade of a mighty oak. The figure was hidden as an owl in the night as it stood, bringing his weapon to bear. With a creaking and silent stretch, he released his fingers.

_Crack!_

The arrow stood quivering, buried past the head, embedded in a still-fresh stump. A colony of ants made a hasty escape from their nearby fortress, scurrying away.

Tamor smiled and stood, letting out a whoop of joy. His plain brown church habit rustled again as he crawled over a rotten log, jogging merrily towards the arrow some sixty paces from him.

He reached the stump, still smiling, and pulled at the arrow with a grunt of effort. He wasn't very strong, even by mouse standards. It was a feat of wonders that he could pull the great oak bow he had made just that morning.

With a groan, the stump finally released the arrow. Tamor stumbled and fell on his backside, still holding the arrow. Without even standing up, he inspected the sharp metal point and fletchings to make sure they were undamaged. It took time and effort to make a good arrow, and he didn't want to have to spend more of both making replacements.

After he was satisfied it was intact, Tamor stood up and carefully slid the shaft into the sack cloth on his belt along with five others. Just as he was turning to find a new target, a voice echoed through the forest, filled with age and a hint of irritation. Well, maybe a little more than a hint.

"Tamor, Tamor, you blasted rapscallion! Come out this instant, or I will have Mathilda find you!"

Tamor swallowed loudly, suddenly feeling a small ball of apprehension in the pit of his stomach at the thought of encountering the badger responsible for dispensing punishment for unruly mice.

He followed the voice to a small bridge leading over a stream about two hundred paces to the north. A figure stood on the bridge dressed in a similar robe as Tamor's, paws cupped around his mouth. "Tamor, Tamor!"

It was Abbot Mengrid, one of the oldest mice of the entire abbey. He was fair and kind, but not one to be crossed. His white and gray fur was always combed to exacting personal standards, and his whiskers were always trimmed to a very manageable length. Overall, a very traditional church mouse.

Tamor swallowed again and raised his paw, simultaneously slipping the bow and arrows behind a clump of bushes. "Here I am, father Mengrid!"

The Abbot tilted his head upwards and peered down the spectacles perched on the bridge of his black nose. "Ah, Tamor! There you are, you young rascal! Come here, let me speak to you."

Tamor hesitantly made his way along the trail to the bridge, finally stopping in front of Abbot Mengrid while shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Tell me, young one," Mengrid started, motioning Tamor to walk with him. He did, following the aging mouse. "What were you doing out here in Mossflower this late in the afternoon? We're almost ready for dinner, you know."

Tamor wrung his paws. "Uhm…yes, Abbot, I know. I was looking for cranberries for the, uh, cordial. Grace had asked me to look for some." He squinted slightly, hoping his ruse would work.

Mengrid cocked his head slightly. "Hmmm, awful late in the season for cranberries, isn't it? And isn't Grace with the rest of the kitchen mice, getting ready for the summer feast?"

Tamor had no answer. He hung his head, ashamed, as the Abbot reached behind the bush and pulled out the oak bow. "Shooting again, were we?" he said, twanging the bowstring with one finger.

The guilty mouse nodded slightly. Abbot Mengrid sighed and expertly unstrung the bow, sliding the string into his pocket and discarding the stave down a hill. He knelt down in front of Tamor and put a paw on his shoulder. "Tamor, my son, we have spoken about this. You cannot be an archer, not with your…condition. And we are a society of peace, of love, of caring. We are not warriors. The only reason we have weapons are for what little hunting and ceremony we have.

"Besides," he said, standing up. "All the creatures of the realm know not to harm any creature from Redwall abbey. We wage no wars, fight no battles. Our job is to _help _the animals around us, not to harm them. Even the foxes leave us be, despite their war-like ways."

As they began walking along the trail, Tamor couldn't help but speak up. "But, father, what if we were attacked? Suppose some beast didn't keep to the code?"

The Abbot had to stifle his laughter to a small chuckle. "Oh, Tamor. What other creatures are there? Our expanse is surrounded on three sides by mountains, and by the plains on the fourth. We haven't been attacked in many, many seasons."

"But Abbot…"

Mengrid silenced him with a raised paw. "Now, my son, calm yourself. Today is not time to be thinking of such things. Besides, we have a busy night ahead. After dinner we must attend to those in the infirmary, clean the kitchen, take stock of the cellar…"

The mouse's voice faded in Tamor's as they trudged along the road, sun's castings spread out before them in a blanket of gold.

Redwall Abbey was strong, but not imposing. The massive red-sandstone walls seemed to radiate peace and kindness to any who passed by, or through the great doors.

The Great Hall was used for everything from meals to weddings, its astonishingly tall ceiling and solid stone construction added to the sense of immensity and space. Colorful tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, interrupted occasionally only by a stone pillar or window.

The passageways around it lead to dormitories, study rooms, the infirmary, and countless other quarters. If looked at from the view of a bird, the entire structure was nothing but a giant square with a church bell at the center. However, there was much more to the Abbey than one could see with the naked eye.

During the winter, the fields around the Abbey were covered in feet of snow, which was as white and clean as the roofs. Many a weary traveler had stumbled across the place during a storm; cold, wet, hungry, and tired. The peaceful mice and other creatures inside had sworn an oath to help all those who needed it, so long as they harmed no beast.

The soft warmth of the summer night wrapped around every creature at dinner that night, like a blanket hung near the fire after a long day.

Tamor sat alone, as usual, after being shooed away from the fire by the other mice his age.

"Get away, Cyclops! We don't want a beast like you mucking up our dinner!"

"Yeah, you waste! You probably couldn't see your plate, anyway!"

Tamor had slunk away, sitting near a shrub with his plate of seasoned Silverfin river fish, greens, and cornvine getting cold. His paw was balled in a fist, shaking uncontrollably, while his teeth clenched and unclenched periodically. A single tear rolled down his cheek, landing on the sleeve of the robe. He wiped his eye angrily, trying to stifle the rest.

"Tamor, are you alright?"

The voice was as clear and gentle as river water. He looked up, surprised, right into the worried features of Grace Coppermouse. Her sandy-brown fur looked as soft as ever, and her hair was tied behind her head with a ribbon, which matched the brown habit she wore like all other female churchmice. Deep pools of green stared back into Tamor's own eyes, shimmering with intelligence and concern.

Tamor blushed horrendously and coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Oh, Grace! Yes, I'm…yes, fine. Just fine. Thought I would get away from the crowd for a moment, maybe get some peace," he said, trying to feign a smile.

Grace played along. "Well, would two be a crowd for you?" She sat down, smiling comfortingly.

Tamor stammered a response. "No, of course…not. You're…no, it's fine."

For a moment, both of them were silent as he shifted his gaze to the fire. Finally, Grace sighed and put a paw on his arm. "Tamor, don't let them get to you. They just don't understand, that's all. You're no different from them, at least not inside."

His eyes were watering, and this time Tamor couldn't make an effort to dry them. "They're right; I'm just…I'm just a waste of space. I shouldn't be here; I shouldn't be friends with any of you. Everyone would just be better off if I left forever."

With a start, he stood up and ran towards the great hall, eyes shut tight.

Grace blinked tears from her own eyes. "Oh, Tamor. Please find peace."

Tamor sat on the edge of his bed, sniffling quietly. There was a piece of torn cloth in his paw, just big enough for it to cover his fingers. There was a small illustration on it; a mouse, chest covered in maille, holding two long daggers and a bow, pointing towards a mountain covered in snow. Stitched into the fabric was a short sentence. _Tamdril, archer of the east. Sleep me now, forever not. _

_My father's last gift, _Tamor thought bitterly. _Before he left our family to die._

Father Mengrid had told him the story of how Tamor came to Redwall when he was twelve, almost four years before. On a foraging mission into the surrounding hills, a group of Redwall mice came across a cabin, almost entirely burnt to the ground. They found the body of three mice; a female and two children. A note tacked to the door was from their father. It read,

_"I was out hunting when I saw the smoke. But I was too frozen in fear to help and watched the cabin burn. I heard my wife and children die. Please, if anyone finds this, bury them. And if there are survivors, help them, but do not tell them of me, for I am ashamed and wish to go die alone in the hills like the monster that I am. - Tarfor the unforgivable"_

In retrieving the dead, a crying infant was heard. Found under the still-smoldering beams of the cabin, baby Tamor lay, clutching the piece of tapestry. Blood covered his face, and the crying soon stopped. The rescuers hurried him back to the Abbey, fearing the worst. Somehow, he survived, but at a cost. His right eye was blinded, but by what no one could understand. The Abbot said it may have been a falling beam hit him somewhere on the head, causing the blindness. But then, others argued, why wasn't his entire vision taken?

The Abbot never found an answer, and neither did the hordes of healers, scholars, and curious folk that tried to piece together the mystery. After a few years, they simply accepted fact and moved on.

Tamor's paw touched the right side of his face, and then moved it in front of the useless eye. Nothing. Just blackness, an ever-present, perpetuating darkness.

He bit his lip, trying to stop the tears from surfacing again. But it was useless. He sat on the bed, sobbing quietly while clutching the fabric in his paw. A tear fell onto the dusty bedroom floor, leaving a small pool.

_What fortune condemned me to this fate? _

"Tamor?"

Tamor knew that voice. It was Mathilda, the badger. She had been like a mother for him since he arrived at the Abbey. Feeding him, nurturing him, disciplining, praising, everything a mother should do. But it was something Tamor would never know truthfully.

She sat down on the bed next to him, wrapping a powerful arm around his shoulder and pulling him close while the tears came. For a while, all Tamor was capable of was choking sobs. Finally, he was able to look up with bleary eyes into the white and black-striped face of the badger. "Why me, Mathilda? What did I do to deserve this?"

Hugging him even tighter, Mathilda tried to comfort him, whispering soothingly. "You haven't done anything, Tamor. You were made this way for a reason, and all we can do is to wait and see what that reason is."

"What could that possibly be," he said, still fighting back sobs. "How can this be for a good purpose? I'm…I'm just a waste!"

Mathilda held him at arm's length. "Tamor, I never want to hear you say that again! Nobody is a waste, not the smallest ant or bee. You were put here for a purpose, remember that. We all were."

Tamor murmured something. "I'm sorry?" Mathilda asked patiently.

He looked up, eyes red and bloodshot. "It's not fair. All I've ever wanted to be was an archer. Brave, strong, like Tamdril! Then I could prove myself; prove that I'm not a waste. But now it's all gone, every last bit of it. There's no hope for me!"

Before Mathilda could act, Tamor ran out the door, a line of teardrops in the dusty floor following his tracks.

He wasn't sure how far he ran, or how long, but somehow found himself on top of one of the corner towers, which used to be a watch for enemy forces. Now it was an open-topped tower, used for stargazing.

Tamor stared angrily at the night sky, raising his fist. "Why do I deserve this? Why? Why! Tell me, show me!"

He collapsed onto the hard wooden floor, crying until a fitful sleep took him.

A harsh, biting wind blew clouds of snow into the marching convoy. Most could only see to the end of their paw, if that. Somehow, they managed to dig their dirt and grime-stained paws into the thick snow enough to keep walking. Those who had no boots or wrappings on their paws soon fell, either to be crushed by the carts or left to die.

This was no worry to Bloodfang. His whiskers twitched in the facade of a smile as his army marched. He had more warriors than he needed, and the slaves taken from the last village would be enough to keep them going through the march.

He cast a glance behind his broad leopard shoulder. The smoke was still visible from the remains of the village, which he had passed through just ten hours ago. His tail swished anxiously at the thought of another chance to taste blood.

_Hares, wonderful feeding. A little thick, but wonderful. So much for those creatures being skilled fighters; we slaughtered them in a matter of minutes._

He growled and snapped his rat-tail whip at one of the slaves pulling his cart. "Scum! Get moving or I just might look to see what color your insides are!" His voice was like gravel being crunched by a serpent. Rough enough to peel the flesh off your bones, and enough venom to paralyze you while he did it.

The hare tried to get a better foothold, but slipped and fell face-first into the snow. He was young, no older than twelve, and started crying when he got up. "Please, sir, may I rest for a bit? I just need to get me strength up, just a little…"

Bloodfang was on him in the blink of an eye. Pinning him up against the cart, he sank his teeth into the hare's neck. The beast cried out, but then went limp. The leopard pulled away from the hare and tossed the carcass to the side of the road. "You, slave!" He yelled, pointing at a skinny-looking maidhare, a drop of blood falling from his lips. "If you don't start pushing this cart in two seconds, I'm going to skin you alive and boil you into soup!"

The young hare squeaked and dashed to the previous slave's spot. Soon they were moving again, with little conversation passing between them.

Bloodfang growled lowly and snapped his teeth. "Shardclaw, get up here!"

A mangy-looking ferret with yellowed teeth and squinty eyes scurried up to the cart and stood next to the leopard. "Yes, lord Bloodfang?

His leader produced a map and shoved it into Shardclaw's chest. "Take this. Find the closest village and show me where it is. Make sure it's a good one, otherwise I'll drag your lousy carcass behind the carts until we find one!"

Shardclaw gulped and nodded feverishly. "Y-Yes, Lord Bloodfang, I will find you a village, one with many tasty vermin to…"

Bloodfang had to stop speaking, as a boulder-sized paw was wrapped around his throat. "Shut up, you worthless blaggard!" he yelled, throwing him into the rear of the cart. "Just find me a village. And remember, make it good."

Five minutes later, the ferret appeared and timidly stood next to Bloodfang. "Um, sire, I do believe I've found one."

He recoiled as his leader swatted at him. "Well, fool, spit it out then!"

The ferret clumsily unrolled the map. "This here, sire. I'm not a readin' ferret me-self, but it looks plenty big, yer lordship."

Bloodfang squinted at the point on the map. "Redwall Abbey, hmmm? Excellent. Plenty of fat monks and no soldiers. Positively…" he licked his dagger-like teeth. "Excellent."

He cracked the whip over the slaves' heads and screamed. "Change direction! Over that ridgeline, and then southward! Come on, you worthless piles of slop! Get moving!" He snapped it again, and again, striking all of the slaves.

Bloodfang pulled in the whip and licked the end, which was covered in the red, sticky substance he so desperately craved. "Excellent."

Morning came too soon for Tamor. He opened his red and tired eyes as the sun began to creep over the horizon. His body was sore and tight from lying on the hard wooden floor, and his mind was a swimming sea of shame and anger. He forced himself to stop the tears, swallowing hard and blinking.

Tamor stood, staring bleakly to the west. The forest gleamed, an emerald in a pond of blue sky. He stared longingly at the oak trees, whose saplings would make perfect longbows.

He abruptly shook his head. "No," he said to himself. "I'll never be an archer. I'll never be anything."

As he stumbled along the wall towards the dormitories, he saw a mouse on the opposite wall, some hundred yards away. Even at this distance, Tamor knew who it was.

Joeb had been at Redwall for as long as anyone could remember. Even Abbot Mengrid couldn't remember a time without Joeb. He was a solitary old mouse, who rarely spoke to anyone; let alone retreat out of his quarters. He had politely declined Mengrid's invitation to join them as a brother, and instead returned to his secretive ways.

He always wore a cloaked robe, even on hot bright summer days such as this. He had a lump on his back, which everybody assumed was due to some accident or illness. But he seemed to move along fine, even in his ripe old age.

Joeb seemed especially wary today. He glanced around him furtively, stopping every once in a while to adjust his robe while simultaneously looking behind him. Tamor squinted as Joeb stopped in a dark corner, reaching behind his back.

Tamor's eyes widened as the old mouse shrugged off the lump on his back, which was actually some sort of satchel. He began rummaging around in it, pulling out objects that the young watchover couldn't make out.

While Joeb was focused on the pack's contents, Tamor began to carefully sneak around the edge of the wall, trying to get as close as possible. After he got onto the same side as Joeb, he hid behind a stack of crates and watched intently.

He was assembling something; that was all Tamor could make out. It glinted in the sunlight, and Tamor realized that the object was made of metal or brass. The old mouse continued his task, finally bringing the thing up to his eye.

It was a telescope! Tamor could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen one, only heard of them being used by sea captains and great adventurers. Now Joeb was aiming it over the wall, towards the mountains to the north. His face was skewed in concentration and focus.

_What could he be up to? _Tamor thought, shifting his weight to get a better view. In doing so, he knocked a small vase off the top of the crates, sending it crashing to the courtyard below.

In a flash, Joeb had stuffed the telescope in his pack and turned towards the crates, his eyes squinty and dancing in their sockets. "Whoever you are," he said, in a dry yet powerful voice, "Come out now or face my wrath!"

He withdrew a dagger from his belt, the bright steel glinting in the morning light.

Tamor shook with fear, sweating so much that the salty liquid dripped into his eyes. Finally, he took a breath and stood. "Please, Mister Joeb, it's only me! Tamor, the blind…I mean, the apprentice!"

Joeb's shoulders sank. Hastily, he shoved the dagger back into his belt and motioned for the frightened mouse to come forward. On shaking legs, Tamor advanced forward.

He stood mere feet from Joeb, cowering under his calculating gaze. The mouse stroked the gray and black fur on his chin, seeming to size up the beast in front of him.

"Tamor. I know you. You're the Abbot's steward, aren't you?"

Tamor nodded shakily. "Y-yes, sir. I'm his apprentice. I'm sorry for intruding, sir. I was just nearby and saw you…"

Joeb curtly held up his paw. "Where were you? It's early for anyone to be up."

He pointed towards the tower. "There, sir. I spent the night in the observatory."

A shimmer flashed across Joeb's eye. "Why did you do that? Own bed not good enough for you?"

Embarrassed, Tamor continued. "No, sir. I…I ran up there last night after…after something happened."

"And what would that 'something' be?"

Tamor coughed. "I…well, it's…"

"Out with it, lad!"

He broke down. "I ran up there because I'm weak! They called me names and I ran away! Grace and Mathilda tried to help, but I'm just worthless! I can't do anything, let alone be what I want to!"

The tears came once again. Tamor hung his head in shame, starting to turn. But he felt Joeb's heavy paw on his shoulder and looked back. Joeb lifted up Tamor's head and wiped away a solitary tear from the sandy cheek. He spoke gently, consolingly, just loud enough for both to hear.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, young one. Tell me, why did the others call you names? You haven't done anything to harm them, have you?"

Tamor shook his head slowly. "No, sir. It's because…I'm half-blind sir. I'm clumsy and can't help with things and can't…" He had to stop again, trying to force the sobs back down his throat.

"Can't what, Tamor?"

He looked back up into Joeb's face. "I can't be an archer, sir. I'm just…I'm nobody. I'm not good for anything, let alone fighting. And Abbot Mengrid says I can't, with my condition. He says we don't need warriors anymore."

Joeb sighed and placed his s on Tamor's shoulders. "Young one, listen to me. Nobody was placed on this earth without purpose. The reasons may be clouded to us now, but I promise, someday they will become clear. All we can do is hope."

Tamor's eyes hardened. "I've been hoping my entire life, and look where it's gotten me." He stormed off, leaving Joeb on the walkway, shaking his head solemnly.

The cellar was cool and dry, the scent of fermented strawberries and grapes thick in the air. The ashwood barrels sat silently in their cradles, seeming to study each other from across the room.

Light came from just three torches, arrayed in the corners of the room. They cast an orange pallor over the floor and walls, barely enough to make out any sort of detail. That was all Tamor needed for his task. He hurriedly stuffed dry fruits, biscuits, and water pouches into a fabric-woven pack. When it was full to the brim, bursting with food and provisions, Tamor tied the cover on and hefted the satchel. It was heavy, but not unbearably so.

He set it back onto the cobble-stone ground, glancing around for anything he might have forgotten. As his eyes surveyed the room, he felt a small pang of sadness.

_How many summers did I spend here, helping the friar and Grace make cordial? Will they even miss me?_

The sadness felt like a lump in his chest now as Grace's name slipped across his mind. _Grace. I wish I didn't have to leave, but it's for the best. For everyone. _

Tamor hefted the pack with a grunt and picked up his walking stick, a gnarled piece of hickory he had found and carved himself almost six years before with the help of Abbot Mengrid.

He sighed and ran his paw fondly over the knotted wood, full of memories from wanderings in the woods and down to the river, where the water was so cool and fresh it had made Tamor want to stay there all day.

With a final, longing glance, he turned around and walked up the stairs and out the cellar door.

The great hall was empty, dimly lit by just a few sputtering torches. Each of Tamor's footsteps seemed ten times louder than it should have, echoing dully down the great room.

Finally, he managed to make his way to the entrance hall. Moonlight shone through the windows above the great door, glistening with its silver sheen. The door was made from solid oak logs, sturdy as the stone they were built around. Scores of travelers and plainsbeasts had made their way through the great threshold, grateful for a place of hope and comfort.

Tamor squinted at the thought. "There is no hope for me, not anywhere," he whispered, striding purposefully towards the doors.

Thankfully, the maintenance moles kept the hinges well oiled, and they opened with nothing more than a small creak. The chilling night air met Tamor as he stepped onto the stairway, closing the great doors. He rubbed his arms, shivering slightly before taking a glance around him.

There were no guards or watches, for obvious reasons. The only beast that Tamor must worry about was a half-senile hare that slept in the gatehouse. Still, the young mouse stayed to the shadows, wary of anyone taking a late-night stroll or visiting the kitchen for a snack. Like a snake through the grass he moved, the only noise coming from his slightly-oversized habit rubbing against bushes and trees as he stopped.

After each silent rush, he stopped and listened. There were no shouts or ringing of bells, or trotting of feet looking for him. Occasionally a nightingale would chirp or the wind would rustle the trees, but otherwise, the world was silent. A wry smile played on the edges of Tamor's lips. _They probably won't even notice I'm gone._

After reaching the eastern wall, Tamor quickly found what he was looking for. A large tunnel, built by the moles for practicing construction and reinforcing their burrows. The entrance was clearly marked; MOLES ONLY, PLEASE.

Tamor shrugged off the pack and threw it down the hole, following it closely behind. The darkness immediately swallowed him, enveloping every bit of him in a cover of black. For a moment, he almost panicked, breathing rapidly and sweating, almost leaping out of the tunnel. The dirt seemed to be pressing on him, ready to snatch the air out his very lungs.

He forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. _Take it slow, _he told himself. _Take it slow and everything will be alright. _

Slowly, he started to make headway. On paws and knees, groping the dry soil with sweaty paws. He would push the satchel in front of him a few feet, and then move. Tamor repeated the process for what felt like hours until a dim ray of moonlight was visible at the end of the tunnel.

A surge of relief filled his chest. Taking a deep breath, he started to move faster, clawing the dirt around him to propel himself faster and faster.

Suddenly, his head popped up out of the tunnel exit. Tamor took a gulp of fresh air, laughing with jubilation. He was near the edge of the Hazelwood forest, a mere stone's throw away. The moles had dug the tunnel well.

As he threw the pack up out of the hole and climbed out, he stopped and looked at the Abbey behind him. It almost beckoned, begging him to return. The walls seemed comforting and safe, like they could keep him from any harm.

Tamor shook his head and shouldered the pack. Looking to the east, the Hazelwood forest was thick and dark, with the Remora Mountains behind it white and gray against the night sky. A sudden gust made the trees shiver while the wind howled against the great snow and rock-covered mountains.

A small bolt of fear leaped into Tamor's chest, but he shook his head angrily and looked back up. "Anywhere," he said aloud. "Anywhere but here, anywhere I won't be a burden."

With a deep breath, he started to make his way into the great, dark woods. The trees were thin and far between at first, but slowly grew denser and harder to navigate. Branches scraped and tore at his face, catching on his large robe and pack. Tamor would rip away from them, snapping and breaking the claw-like branches into pieces.

After nearly an hour of stumbling blindly through the thick forest, he had to stop. Setting his pack down next to him, the world seemed extraordinarily quiet, like the trees were waiting for something, or even scared.

Tamor looked up at the great pine, ash, and elm boughs above his head. They almost completely blocked out the night sky, save for a few slivers of moonlight filtering through their boughs.

With a sigh, he began to gather the makings for a fire. Without the stars, he had no way to navigate through the forest. One wrong turn, and he could be lost forever.

"Not that it would make much difference," he muttered to himself. "I don't even know where I'm going, just as long as I'm away from the Abbey."

An hour or so later, Tamor had a small campfire made and was roasting a few chestnuts over the flames. While they cooked, he took a small stick and began to absentmindedly whittle the bark away, throwing the shavings into the fire.

He ate while continuing the task. Each stroke of the small knife felt natural and precise, like it was part of him. His paws turned and twisted slowly, carving with the experience one can only gain from months of practice.

When the stick was done, Tamor set the knife down and looked at it. It was slightly shorter than his walking stick, just under two arms' lengths. One point was sharpened, but not delicately so. It would harden over the fire, becoming almost as strong as stone, so long as he didn't burn it.

After a short draught of elderberry juice, he began to get tired. Hanging an old blanket between two trees with twine, Tamor constructed a tent near the fire. Close enough for warmth, but not close enough to accidently catch the wool fabric ablaze.

As his eyes closed, an image flashed behind them. Grace; laughing joyfully, sand-brown hair glistening in the morning's light. She was sitting with Tamor, listening to his impersonation of one of the Abbots, a grizzled old mouse with a gut the size of a wagon wheel.

A single tear dropped from his cheek onto the ground. "I'm sorry, Grace." He said, whispering as sleep took him.

Bloodfang sneered, licking his teeth hungrily. Beyond the ridgeline he stood upon lay Hazelwood, with the plains beyond. And sitting only a few leagues away lay Redwall, like a pearl ready to be snatched from a pool.

He growled and wrapped his paw around the nearest unsuspecting mountain lions neck, who gagged and tried to loosen the vice-like grip around his throat, to no avail. Bloodfang snapped his teeth. "Leathernose, tell the rest of the troops to begin preparations for a march. We're leaving the carts, and the slaves. The forest is too difficult to manage with both."

He let go of Leathernose's throat, who fell onto the grass coughing and wheezing. "Yes-_ack_…my lord. What…_gasp_ should we do with the…slaves?"

Bloodfang smiled grotesquely. "Relieve them of their positions, permanently. I want no trace of us being here. Burn the carts, take only what you need. Tell the rest of your scum to move their lazy hides before I gut them with a rusty spoon! Move!"

Leathernose yelped as his leader swiped at him with razor-sharp claws. He wasn't a very quick creature; being horrendously malnourished and gangly, but the famed claws of Bloodfang were enough to get the slowest creature moving with the utmost haste.

As the spindly mountain lion got to rallying the troops, Bloodfang yelled out over the encampment. "Slagg, Terrok, Halftail, get over here! Now!"

The three minions scrambled to their feet and over to their leader, who looked as if he was ready to twist their heads off with his bare paws. Of course, he always looked like that.

"Yes, master, what may we do for your Excellency?" Slagg asked, bowing deeply. He was a fat, brown-nosing weasel known for exploiting anyone he needed for anything he wanted. Terrok and Halftail were both Rats, only distinguishable through Halftail's missing limb, which twitched uncontrollably at all times. They had dark gray fur, and red-ringed eyes that seemed to never stop moving.

"How may we serve our lordship, sire?" Terrok rasped. After being hit in the throat during a camp scuffle, it sounded as if he had gargled rocks for breakfast.

Bloodfang snarled. "Shut your mouths, worms, and listen closely. Do you see that forest over the ridgeline?" They all nodded hurriedly. "You will be my scouts. Beyond those woods is a monastery, an Abbey, to be precise. That will be our next stop. Your job will be to go ahead of the group, following the main trail," he said, pointing to a thin, windy path leading through the trees. "…and to clear out any resistance you find. Any who don't surrender, kill them on the spot. If you succeed, your rewards will be greater than you can imagine."

The three servants nodded excitedly, tongues hanging out of their toothy mouths. But Bloodfang quickly extinguished those. "However, if you fail me, you will wish that you had joined the slaves. Am I clear?"

More nodding. "Yes, chief!"

"Absolutely, sire!"

"Clear as water, lord."

Bloodfang smiled again, a sight few could bare without grimacing themselves. "Good. Now get out of my sight, you worthless pieces of trash! Before I have to make you!"

Bloodfang watched them scurry away before turning back to Leathernose, who had returned. "Make sure to feed the slaves. And make it good. It'll be the last for them."


	2. Chapter 2 Terror of the North

Okay, more stuff in this chapter. I realize things get a little bloody later on, so if you want me to change the rating for whatever reason, feel free to recommend it.

Also, I'd like to say again that there are bound to be a few holes in this one. Like I said in the chapter one preface, the original premise of the story was for a town situated in a place like mossflower, but not the same. So if there's any discrepencies, that's probably why.

Enjoy!

* * *

Morning came gray and cloudy, a haze already settled over the tiny campsite as Tamor opened his eyes. He was tired and sore from sleeping on the ground, but that was quickly forgotten when the snapping and popping of a fire met his ears.

_It should have burned out, unless someone…_

Barely moving at all, his fingers found the knife on his belt. It was a pitiful little thing, made for cutting paper and whittling, but it was all he had. The spear was on the other side of the camp, where he had left it the previous night.

Taking a deep breath, he leaped to his feet, surveying the area. Nobody was there, yet the fire was roaring with a fresh stock of wood nearby. The only sounds were the birds singing and the crackling of the flames.

"A little late for you to be up."

Tamor spun around, yelping. The knife fell from his grip, landing on the ground with a thud.

Joeb stood not three feet behind him, cradling a load of firewood under one arm. His face was impassive, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Not much of a warrior, letting go of your weapon so fast, eh?"

Tamor let out the breath he had been holding for so long, letting it whistle between his teeth. "For the love of everything sacred, Joeb, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing." he said, stepping aside and throwing the wood along with the rest. "Just thought I'd get the fire stoked a bit."

"No," Tamor said, frowning. "I mean how did you find me?"

Joeb winked, rubbing his s near the flames. "From the way you travel through the trees, I could have waited six days and still found you."

Sitting down in frustration, Tamor poked the fire. "How'd you know I was even gone?"

"Well, the missing bed was a hint," he said, sitting down on a nearby log. "But little mouse prints in the grass that weren't there the day before, and leading straight to the mole tunnel were enough. And even _if _it had been a mole, no professional digger would scrape up his tunnel that badly."

Tamor leaned his cheek on a fist. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not going back, not now, not ever. I've got no place at the Abbey, and everyone knows it. Not even Abbot Mengrid has a place for me. It would be better for everyone if I just disappeared."

The sparkle left Joeb's eye as he frowned. He stood, wandering around the fire. "And what makes you think that, young Tamor?"

Tamor snapped at the old mouse. "Oh, come off it you old codger! You know why I fled; I told you at the wall, I'm useless! The orphan of a father who was too cowardly to save his own family! Now I'm doomed to the same fate, wandering in the forest, hiding in shame."

Suddenly, Joeb was in front of Tamor, staring into his eyes with intensity unknown to the young mouse. He stumbled and fell backwards, landing with a thud as the air was driven from his lungs.

Joeb offered no helping paw. "You are doomed to no fate, do you understand me? We all choose our own path, whether we know it or not. Now I may not know the reason for your affliction, but hellfire, you're stuck with it. All you can do is accept that and move on to your dreams, you whining snivel!"

Tamor was stunned. He couldn't think of a thing to say, other than to get up on shaking arms and hang his head. "You're right. But I still can't go back."

Joeb seemed to have calmed down a bit. "And why's that?"

"I'm ashamed. No one will ever speak to me again after what I've done."

Joeb slapped his knee, laughing. "What you've done? My boy, you've done nothing wrong. You just went looking for nuts and berries, that's all! And anyone who says different will answer to me."

Tamor looked up. "You said to move on to my dreams. What if I can't? What use is a half-blind archer?"

Joeb smiled mischievously. "You've gotten in trouble quite a few times for making weapons, am I right?

He blushed. "Well, yes, but…"

"And I'm guessing they weren't wooden cutlasses."

"Still, they were never good bows. Just childish toys."

Joeb scratched his chin. "How long was the draw?"

Tamor squinted. "My arm length, why?"

Joeb turned away and went to his pack leaning against the log, rummaging about for a moment before standing up and showing Tamor what looked like two identical pieces of dark yew wood. "And what would you say these are, young one?"

Tamor shrugged grumpily. "A broken stick, maybe? What's this all about, anyway?"

In a flash, Joeb had snapped the two pieces together and produced a long string with knots already fitted to the end. Before Tamor could say a word, Joeb was holding a complete bow, assembled and strung in a matter of seconds.

Tamor stared in amazement as the crafty mouse held it out. "Here, take a look."

He did, accepting it like a great lost artifact. The wood had no knots, and the grain was perfectly straight between each string nock. The seam where both halves joined was nearly invisible. As he ran his paws over it, the weapon seemed to respond to his touch.

Suddenly, Joeb was holding an arrow in his face. "Shoot."

Tamor stuttered, almost dropping the shaft. "W-what? But I…"

Joeb stared at him. "Go on, shoot."

Tamor hesitantly nocked the arrow, noticing with a start that the bow was left-pawed. He looked up at Joeb, who winked. "Aye, that's my bow."

He took a breath and looked back down at the bow, which seemed like it was begging to let the arrow loose. The white and gray-speckled feathers glistened in the morning light, sparkling like a jewel in the water.

With a reflex almost as natural as breathing, Tamor leaned forward and then settled back, bringing the string to his cheek as he did so. The draw was as smooth as the wood that he gripped. There was a tree, a lone birch standing among the rest, almost a hundred paces away.

The string seemed to release itself. With a brief rush of cloven air, the arrow streaked towards the target.

_Thwack!_

Before one could blink, the arrow stood quivering in the trunk of the birch, buried almost two inches deep.

Tamor was shocked, his mouth agape. The bow remained where it was, still held at eye-level. Exactly where he had aimed.

Joeb smiled and winked. "Looks like that other eye works just fine, lad."

Tamor couldn't speak, lowering the bow and staring at the arrow almost too far away to see. Finally, he found his voice. "How…how did you make this?"

Joeb took the bow back from him. "Time and effort, my boy, time and effort. Of course, making the bow is the easy part. Arrows are always the hardest. Finding a nice straight branch, heating it over the fire, fletching the end, all very tedious."

Tamor stood in silence for a moment before turning to the old mouse. "Why did you make me shoot it?"

Joeb finished packing the bow away and stood, groaning slightly as his old knees bent. "Confirming my suspicions. I could tell by looking at you; you're a natural archer. Strong back, calm paws, lots of endurance in the arms. And blast your eye; that was a good shot."

At first he beamed with pride, but then the smile faded. "But I'll never be like Tamdril."

Something flashed in Joeb's eyes. "Tamdril? What do you know of him?"

Tamor fished around in his pocket, producing the scrap of cloth with the image of the archer on it. "Just what this picture shows. It was from…before I came to the Abbey."

Joeb took the cloth, almost reverently, and examined it for a full minute before giving it back and coughing into his paw. "Eh, well, thank you. Just thought I recognized the name. Anyway, we best be off back home."

As Tamor packed his things, the joy in his eyes faded. "What am I going to tell the Abbot? He'll be furious! And everyone else will think I'm weak, running away like that."

Joeb gave him his walking stick. "Don't you worry about the Abbot. And as for the others, why weren't _they _out looking for nuts and berries like they should in preparation for the feast? _You_ were the one who stayed out all night to keep searching."

Tamor couldn't help but laugh. "Joeb, you crafty old mouse. You always have some trick up your sleeve, don't you?"

He winked as they covered the fire with earth. "They come to be useful, that's for sure. Now," he said, stamping out a few stray sparks. "Let's get going. It's a long walk back."

As they started walking, Tamor grew worried. "This isn't the way I came. Where are we going?"

Joeb laughed. "Don't tell me you stumbled through the forest the entire night! There's a blasted road half a mile from the Abbey, boy! And I thought your bumbling around was just you trying to be clever."

Tamor blushed. "I've never gone this far before. How could I have known?"

It was then he tripped on a root, falling nose-first into the dirt.

Joeb helped him to his feet, laughing even harder. "By keeping your wits about you, for starters! Now come, it's still a long march, and we haven't any time to waste."

They came to the road that late morning, just as the sun was almost peeking through the clouds. It wasn't a very large path, just big enough for three mice to walk shoulder-to-shoulder along. The dirt was still dry and dusty, despite what looked like rain on the horizon. Tamor sneezed as a cloud of the bronze-colored powder flew into his face. "This blasted dust will be the death of me. How much further?"

Joeb thought for a moment. "Another hour, maybe two. What are you complaining for? A little dust never killed anyone."

Tamor sneezed again. "Well, it just might today."

Suddenly, Joeb halted, one of his ears twitching. "Stop." He said, turning around.

"What?" Tamor asked, slightly annoyed. "Don't tell me you forgot something at the campsite, or I swear I'll…"

"Shut up for a moment, Tamor!" Joeb knelt down, putting an ear to the ground.

A few seconds later he stood, clearly alarmed by something. "Get off the road," he said while pulling Tamor into the woods. "Stay here and don't make a sound, understand?" He was clearly worried; eyes dancing nervously back and forth, the same ear twitching more noticeably.

Tamor nodded, crouching behind a clump of thick bushes. Joeb nodded and scrambled to another thick patch of shrubbery nearby.

For a few moments, everything was silent. A small gust of wind ran through the trees, rattling the branches like a thousand bones. Tamor shivered, starting to wonder if the old mouse had finally gone insane.

At first, it was only a dull roar in the distance. It could have been distant thunderclouds, or a small avalanche on the mountainside. But as the din grew, those hopes were quickly extinguished.

Now it was like thunder, surrounding the two mice crouched in the damp forest. The ground started to shake, as if a giant had grabbed the earth in his enormous paws and shook it angrily.

A cloud of birds rose overhead, chirping and cawing excitedly. It seemed as if the sky itself was splitting down the middle, releasing a sudden shower of rain and thunder.

Tamor's eyes widened, staring down the trembling road.

The creatures swarmed down the path in a wave of black and gray, paws shaking the earth until it seemed like it would crumble. Their matted and gnarled fur was covered in dust and grease, and their snarling mouths held rows of broken and stained teeth. Ferrets, rats, mountain lions, wolves and foxes, they all ran clumped together like a singular living creature on the thin, muddy path.

Rain dripped off their weapons; rusty swords and spears, barbed arrowheads and thick, heavy clubs. Their arms rattled against each other, almost drowning out their guttural panting and yelling. Spittle flew from their mouths as they ran, dripping from their twisted maws.

A figure rose above the crowd, a leopard; standing on a cart towed by a clump of ferrets and rats. His amber and white fur was spotted with red, and the teeth in his grinning jaws were as sharp and long as the broadsword on his belt. The cape he wore was a patchwork of different creature's pelts; hares, rabbits, moles, and mice. The snake-skin sword belt held more weapons, daggers and smaller swords glistening menacingly in the gray morning light.

He cracked a whip over the horde; cackling. "Move your worthless hides! If we don't get to that blasted fortress by nightfall it'll be your heads! Run faster, worms!"

A rat fell; tripped up by his long tail. He screamed as dozens of feet trampled him, but went silent as the leopard's cart rolled over him with a thump. Bloodfang screeched laughter again, not sparing as much as a passing glance. "I told you to keep moving! HA!"

That sneering laughter was all Tamor could hear as the swarm passed, leaving nothing but the body of the rat and hundreds of footprints pounded into the muddy ground. Soon the roar was replaced by the sound of rain on the leaves and dirt, and the groan of the trees.

Tamor stood on shaking legs, mouth wide agape and eyes wide in shock. He tried to take a step forward, but nothing happened. Everything was a swirl of terror and astonishment, and all he could see was the contorted body of the rat on the road, blood starting to pool around him in the mud.

Joeb grabbed Tamor's shoulder. In shock, Tamor knocked his paw away and yanked the knife from his belt before realizing who it was. Joeb pretended not to notice and grabbed his habit, pushing him towards the road. "Come," he said. "We must leave, now!"

Tamor was still shaking, unable to speak. He lifted a paw, pointing at the rat not five steps from him. Joeb turned, his own eyes opening slightly in astonishment.

The mangled beast was still alive. Short, wheezing breaths came through his bloody lips. A small lump was visible under his torn jacket, obviously a horrendously broken rib. His paw twitched, scrabbling uselessly at his chest.

Joeb motioned for Tamor to stay there, walking to the rat and kneeling next to him. He whispered something, and the rat coughed a response. Joeb unhooked the flask from his belt and gave the dying beast a small sip before setting it down.

In a blinding flash, there was a knife in the rat's chest, still gripped in Joeb's paw. The rat gasped and shuddered once, eyes bulging out of their sockets. His paws clawed the dirt around him desperately. The eyes closed as a final, rattling sigh shook his body, and then went still.

Joeb bowed his head. As he stood and turned, his face was lined with shadows and sadness which didn't seem to fit the cunning, sly demeanor.

Tamor couldn't believe his eyes. The only thing that he could hear was a dull ringing, until Joeb spoke up. "We have to leave."

Tamor stumbled backwards, leaning against a tree. "You…you killed…"

Joeb's eyes had hardened. "Any death I could give would have been better than what awaited him. Mercy comes in many shapes and forms, Tamor. Now move! We have to get back home!"

With a gulp and shaking of his head, Tamor was finally able to stand. "You're right. We…we have to warn the others."

Joeb nodded as Tamor shouldered his pack. "If we don't get back soon, there may not be anyone to warn."

"What do you mean?" Tamor asked as they started to run along the trail, mud splashing up behind them.

"Do you know who that was?"

"No, who is it?"

A pause. "His name is Bloodfang."

A shard of memory sparkled in Tamor's brain, but it slipped past like a wisp of smoke. He listened intently as Joeb continued.

"…A leopard from the land of Antuma, across the mountains. He's a fearsome brute, known for…" Joeb's voice drifted off.

Tamor panted. "What? What's he known…"

Joeb shook his head. "Never mind, just keep running!"

They did, for what seemed like hours.

Grace set the mug down next to brother Leyfrond, who was buried in one of the Abbey's records, like he always was.

"Ah, thank you my dear," he said, taking a grateful sip of the ale. "I do get quite parched, on occasion."

She chuckled and walked out the door, turning at the threshold. "Don't stay up here all day, brother. It's not good for you."

The Abbot waved his paw. "Oh, I'll be all right, dearie. But please do make sure to give something to Tamor, he hasn't been to breakfast today. Are you sure he isn't in the infirmary?"

Grace frowned worriedly. "No…no, he isn't there. I'm sure he's somewhere in the Abbey."

The Abbot made an affirming sound and nodded. "Well then, you had best be off, young one. Oh, and please give my regards to brother Ramdol, his ale this year is especially tasteful."

"I will, brother."

The door clicked shut as Grace moved down the hallway, towards the southern wall. She sighed and rubbed a finger on the side of the still-cold tankards. "Tamor, where could you have gone off to now?" she whispered under her breath.

A forebodingly gray sky met Grace as she opened the door to the outside wall. A harsh wind blew from the north, rustling the bushes and trees growing in the courtyard. The flowers had wilted seemingly overnight; now hanging their dying heads like a procession of coffin-bearers.

As Grace looked to the south, staring at the rain clouds soon to be bearing down upon the abbey, something caught her eye. A small cloud of dust, rising above the forest half a league away. She squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever could be making such a disturbance.

It was too far to make out, still a blurry smudge on the horizon. Grace heard pawsteps on the stone pathway below the wall and leaned over the edge. It was Mathilda, ferrying a basket of wild grasses to the kitchen.

"Mathilda!" Grace called out. "Mathilda, could you come here for a moment? I need your badger eyes!"

The stripedog lowered the basket to the ground and made her way up a nearby set of stairs. A moment later they were both standing on the wall's edge, looking between the battlements.

Grace extended a paw to the south. "There, just at the forest edge. Can you see it?"

Mathilda squinted and stared for a moment. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she gasped quietly. "By the seasons…"

"What, what is it?" Grace asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

Before another word could be spoken, Mathilda was pulling the young mouse down the stairs. "Hurry, dear. We don't have much time." Her voice was full of worry, something very unusual for the hulking badger.

Grace followed her into the great hall, the oak doors banging as Mathilda flung them open. They nearly ran over father Mengrid, who was returning with a cup of ale.

"Mathilda, bless me! You should really watch…"

The badger cut him off, another abnormal behavior. "Father, there's…something coming down the road. It's…" She glanced around and then leaned forward, so only the two mice could hear. "It's a band of vermin, headed this way. Two hundred beasts, maybe more. They'll be here by nightfall."

The Abbot's mouth tightened nervously, but his eyes remained as they had been. "Oh my, this _is _serious news. Have you spoken with anyone else about this matter?"

Mathilda shook her head. "No, I thought it best not to worry anyone."

Mengrid stroked his beard with a paw. "Well, I suppose all we can do is shut the gates and pray that they avoid the Abbey. Grace, would be so kind as to tell mister Bluepaw the hare to shut the gates for the night?"

Before she could move, Grace felt Mathilda's hand on her shoulder. She hissed quietly. "Father, we must do more than that! These were rats and lions, not just a fox trying to steal a loaf of bread. We have to take precautions!"

The aging mouse raised an eyebrow slightly. "And what would you have us do, old friend?"

"Post guards on the wall," she said, standing straight. "Have the moles build listening tunnels and widen the moat. Reinforce the gate, set up cauldrons to hold boiling water…"

Father Mengrid shook his head. "I will have no talk of violence inside these walls. We are a peace-loving group, not fighters. We will do everything in our power to help, not harm. However, if it will make you feel better, I will ask someone to stand on the walls until midnight to keep watch."

Mathilda grumbled and slouched off, clearly unsatisfied. Grace glanced at the Abbot briefly before stealing off after her.

"Come now, Mathilda," she said, patting her arm reassuredly as they walked out of the great hall, "Maybe nothing will happen. Who knows, maybe it's just a band of travelers or refugees."

The badger smiled wryly. "Ah, young un, I wish 'twere. But these old eyes still have some life in them, and there was no doubting what they were. Ferrets, rats, mountain lions; a regular band of mercenaries. If only the Abbot knew what was coming, then he might change his mind."

Silence fell between them for what seemed like ages. Finally, Mathilda coughed into a paw and looked at the young mouse. "Ah, did you ever track down Tamor? I never found him after he ran off that night at dinner."

Grace sighed disparagingly. "No, I haven't. And it's worried me silly since then. Oh, Mathilda, do you think he's alright? I can't bear to stand the thought of him lost or hurt. And if those bullies hadn't called him names maybe…ooh!"

"Calm yourself, child," Mathilda said, resting a giant paw on her shoulder. "I'm sure the lad's fine. Knowing Tamor, he'll be back in time for dinner. The young 'un could never resist a good bowl of cornvine and dumpling soup."

Grace wrung her hands. "I do hope so."

They had found their way back onto the southern wall, now starting to drip from a drizzle falling onto the stone. The sky seemed almost hostile; the large, soft gray clouds replaced by sharp banks of black storm front. Thunder roiled in the distance like a monster clearing its throat before the final roar.

Slagg and Halftail were not having a pleasant day. After being driven through the forest like madbeasts by Bloodfang, they were forced to stand guard on the edge of the camp while everyone else rested and prepared themselves for the coming assault. The mob was positioned just half a league from the Abbey, in a clump of dense forest and brush.

Rain continued to soak them to the bone as they stood watch. Halftail the rat sneezed for the umpteenth time. "Gah, 'tis bloomin' weather'll be the death o' me yet. Wat I woodn't give for a noice bowl ah steamin' veg'able soup an' seaweed ale with sum…"

Slagg threw a pebble at his annoyingly vocal companion. "Shut yer trap, ye dundersnout! 'Tis bad enough I gotta be stuck out in this here storm. Oi don't be needin' yer winin'!"

Halftail drew his rusted short sword in a flash, baring his brown and stained teeth. "Don' ye be tellin' me to shut nothin', ya 'orrible excuse for a creature!"

Two hooked knives appeared in the stoat's paws, flashing in the dull evening light. "I'll tell ya whatever I wishes, scum! An' if ya gots a problem with dat I'll slit yer fat gizzard!"

Just when it seemed the two were beyond negotiations, a branch snapped nearby. Both vermin turned their heads towards the sound, previous reservations forgotten.

"Di' ya here 'tat?" Halftail took a tentative step forward. "Sound'd loik it came from…"

A stone came hurtling out of the woods, finding its mark between Halftail's ears with a resounding _crack! _The beast fell, eyes rolled up inside his skull.

Slagg had barely enough time to choke out a short yelp before he was struck down by another well-placed rock. The knives fell from his grip, picked up a moment later by Joeb, who stood over the body in a woodsbeast's crouch. Tamor knelt as well and hefted the short sword uncertainly. He whispered to the old mouse as they set off again. "Joeb, I'm not sure I could kill another creature with this, even if my own life depended on it."

"Calm yourself, Tamor." Joeb muttered to the nervous young one beside him. "My plan doesn't involve bloodshed, not unless absolutely necessary. Hopefully we'll be able to sneak around the camp without being spotted. These," he said, motioning to the blades, "Are just…in case."

Tamor nodded, trying to reassure himself as they pressed on through the thick scrub. Sounds of conversation and grinding wheels drifted through the dense cover. It seemed as if every living creature had deserted the forest, save for the band of vermin and two mice slipping past. The crickets, mosquitoes, and even the noisy sparrows had fallen silent or fled.

The two mice stopped abruptly as the sound of pawsteps on the muddy ground met their ears. Somebeast was coming their way, crashing through the underbrush with no sense of tact or stealth.

Joeb nudged Tamor towards a thick grove of bushes just a pawstep away. They nestled behind the green shrubbery, watching as a rat, clearly with a bit too much seaweed ale and elderberry wine in his gut, staggered through the forest singing in a teeth-grating voice,

_Oooohhh, I be a good fer' nothin' ne'er-do-well,_

_A sea-dwellin' rat, can't ye not tell?_

_Oooohhh, I be a good fer' nuthin ne'er-do-well,_

_The kinda beast ye not want to smell!_

He passed by the two mice, singing his ballad with gusto. As soon as his voice had faded to a mere tinge on the air, Joeb stood, shaking with laughter. "Ahahahahoohoo, that drunkard is gonna wake up with one monster ache in 'is head, that's for sure!"

Tamor could hardly stay on his two paws. "Hahahaha, too bad they aren't all like that! That would sure put a stop to any plans they had!"

Joeb's smile faded slightly. "Maybe, but it's time we got moving again. This rain storm is our only chance of slipping past them, and I don't want to waste it chortling over some blaggard's ailment."

They set off again, smiles still twitching at the corners of their mouths.

The sounds of the vermin camp quickly faded in the punishing torrent of rain. Tamor could hardly see Joeb just a paw's length away in the gray sheets. The only consolation either could take was that the storm would wash away any evidence of their tracks. The mud swallowed up each pawprint and snapped twig without a trace.

But that also meant that every step took twice as long as it should have. The thick muck grabbed their paws in a vice-like grip, forcing them to stop and forcibly tear it from the sludge. Both mice were quickly cold, miserable, and covered in mud. Tamor noticed a small grin plastered to Joeb's face. He couldn't stop himself from hissing at the seemingly senile mouse. "And what are you so happy about?"

Joeb rubbed some of the dark brown mud across his neck. "Natural camouflage, my friend. Take a look at the colors around us. That's right, brown and green, but mostly the former. Come on, cheer up. You're still young, and as I recall, all young un's like an excuse to get dirty."

Tamor grudgingly slathered his body in the stuff. "Maybe, but we still have a long way to go, and I don't want to do it covered in mud and…"

Joeb turned around, the smile now a berating grin. "How far is 'a long way' to you?"

"What difference does it make; it'll be dawn before…"

Tamor looked up in mid-sentence and stopped. Through the mist, Redwall's pale red walls almost glowed. The evening bell was ringing, clanging distinctly through the dreary twilight.

They both threw their weapons to the ground, hugging each other gleefully before tearing off through the forest and into the grass field leading to the walls. Joeb strayed behind slightly, holding onto Tamor's shoulders. He might have been smart, but he was old, and old mice couldn't keep up with the young quite as well.

Brother Ramdol, the aging otter responsible for that year's fantastic ale, was lounging on the southern wall, enjoying the rain. He had long since given up the life of a buccaneer; riding the mighty southern rivers and battling the infamous pike that scoured their shores. He had found Redwall after a mighty storm blew his ship off course, sending many of his dear shipmates to the depths. He had washed up on shore and wandered aimlessly for days until stumbling upon the place.

Now he was like all of the Abbey's residents; seeking peace and comfort in his ripe old age. But like all otters, he enjoyed a good soak now and again. His mind wandered back to his younger days, specifically to a particularly nasty scuffle with a group of mudworts. The slimy creatures had snuck onto their boats, trying to steal food in the night.

So when the sound of yelling roused brother Ramdol from his daydream and he spotted two mud-covered creatures sprinting towards the walls, he did what any sensible otter would do.

"Avast ye, foul beasts," He yelled, shaking a fist in the air. "And come taste me wrath! Nobeast frightens Ramdol the sturdy, skipper from the river…"

A voice rose from between the two. "Ramdol, you salt-brained otter, let us in! It's Joeb and Tamor!"

The otter nearly fell over himself as he ran down the rain-soaked steps. He managed to reach the side gate without too much injury, flinging the door open and pulling both of his sorry-looking friends inside.

Ramdol hugged the older of the two, completely oblivious to the mud covering his best cellar-mate. "Joeb, ya sneaky ol' rascal! Where ya been, lad? Everybeast's been worried sick about ye and the young un' here!"

Joeb slipped an arm around his companion, steering him and the mouse at his side towards the great hall. "Aye, mate, I imagine they have. I 'spose you all have seen the band of vermin to the south?"

The otter nodded solemnly. "Aye, that we have. The goodfernothin' lot 'ave been there since this morn. Stayin' just outside the fields, right where we can't see 'em but they can see us."

Joeb nodded understandingly and held the door as both creatures stepped inside the foyer. "I know exactly where they are, friend, we snuck past them not four hours ago."

One of Ramdol's eyebrows went up. "That be some top-notch sneakin', Joeb ye old fox. Mind I ask where ye where sneakin' from?"

Joeb clapped a hand on Tamor's shoulder with a smack as wet mud met paw. "Deep in the woods, findin' this young rogue. The young fool stayed out all night tryin' to find berries for the feast. Durn near got hisself killed in the rain."

Ramdol winked knowingly. "Aye, mate. That be some fearsome weather out yonder. Well, ye two best be gettin' cleaned up and ready fer supper. G'night!"

Joeb waved goodbye as his friend walked towards the feast hall. Turning to Tamor, he smiled. "Sound advice. We best both be off to the baths. Wouldn't want to look like a pair of mudworms for supper, would we?"

Tamor chuckled as they strode down the hall. "I think this is the one time a bath sounds like a splendid idea."

After nearly an hour of scrubbing, soaking, and washing, both mice were clean enough to wander into the feast hall and take their places at the three long tables arrayed down the center of the room.

After grace they ate, Tamor and Joeb noticeably more than the others. It was a simple meal; vegetable pie, oat scones and mint tea, but it may as well have been a feast for the two companions. They ate enough each for six mice, washing down mouthfuls of pie with droughts of tea. During the meal, Tamor couldn't help but notice a stern glance from father Mengrid. Even after Joeb got up in the middle of dinner and spoke to him quietly, the abbot had a peculiar look about his face.

Tamor stopped eating only shortly after Joeb; both mice loosening their belts and leaning against the stone walls contentedly. Most of the other creatures had already gone to bed, with just a few moles remaining scraping at the bottom of the stew pot.

Joeb glanced at the mouse beside him, who had his eyes closed and a satisfied smile resting on his lips.

"Ah, how I wish I was still able to fall asleep like that." Joeb murmured to himself. "Not so easy now, not with these old bones and old memories." A haze seemed to pass over his blue-gray eyes for a moment, his smile fading.

But he snapped back to the real world when a beautiful voice echoed across the room, somehow grateful and angry at the same time. "Tamor!"

Joeb turned to see Grace Coppermouse sprinting towards the pair, eyes wide with both relief and concern. He hastily moved out of the way as she barreled past him.

Poor Tamor hardly had time to wake up before being knocked to the floor by something soft and warm. Through the haze of sleep and confusion, he was able to tell that it was Grace.

She hugged him tightly, burying her head in his shoulder. "Oh, Tamor! Don't you ever worry me like that again! What were you thinking? You could have been hurt or captured or…oh, I'm just so glad you've returned!"

Tamor tried to suck in air through Grace's tight embrace. "Yes, I'm…fine! Now, please, can I…breathe?"

She pulled him to his knees and held him at arm's length. "Fine, but if you ever scare me like that again, I'll hold you so tight you'll never breathe comfortably again!"

Tamor blushed, much to the amusement of Joeb, who roared laughter and smacked his knee. "What's the matter, lad? Beetle got your tongue? Oh me oh my, the lad's gone as red as an strawberry!"

Grace cast a disapproving glance at the gray mouse. "Quiet, you. Or I'll squeeze the air right out of those withered old lungs! I missed you too, Joeb."

Joeb promptly shut his mouth and looked elsewhere, knowing that his elderly bones couldn't take the welcoming embrace of the spry young Coppermouse.

Tamor helped Grace to her feet. "Don't worry, Grace, we're both fine. A little tired, but nothing a good rest can't fix."

She huffed and put a paw on her hip. "You'd best hope so; otherwise I'll be the one who has to take care of you! And after all the worry you've given me, it'd be an extra dose of motherwort and beetroot."

Tamor's face twitched in disgust. "Bleh! That'd do more harm than good. Besides, we didn't even get sick."

Grace's eyes softened and she smiled. "Well, I suppose. But it's off to bed right this minute. That means you as well, Joeb."

Joeb was about to blanch about being reprimanded by a young 'un, but the words 'motherwort' and 'beetroot' flashed across his mind. He quickly gathered himself and made off towards his quarters.

Grace laughed and grabbed Tamor's hand. "For being so old and experienced, he's not one to enjoy a trip to the infirmary. Come now, we'd best get you to bed."

Tamor was pulled along by Grace until they came to the apprentice quarters. They stood in front of the door for a few moments, staring into each other's faces before Tamor coughed and looked down. "You're…you're still holding my hand," he murmured.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Grace said, embarrassed, hurriedly letting go and tucking her hands behind her back. Tamor couldn't help but notice the tinge of red on her auburn cheeks.

They stood in awkward silence for what seemed like ages before Grace abruptly gave Tamor a peck on the cheek and smiled delicately. "I'm glad you're back," she said over her shoulder as she walked down the hall.

Tamor could only stare in shocked silence, mouth agape, while his paw trailed up to the spot in his cheek. It was only a friendly gesture, a good-bye, but…but Grace had kissed him! A broad smile was etched into his face as he wandered into his quarters.

The smile was still there when he awoke the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3 New friends, old enemies

Dawn broke gray and dark, but dry. The rain had stopped late that night, leaving the fresh scent of dew in the air. The flowers seemed to glow in the pale twilight, glittering from the moisture drops on their petals.

The wonders of the autumn sunrise were lost on Bloodfang as he stepped out of his tent. All he saw was the abbey, glittering in the morning sun. Sniffing the air experimentally, he growled lowly. "Sharpclaw, get over here!"

The lanky ferret stumbled towards his master, falling onto a knee in front of the leopard. "Y-yes, my m-m-master, what do you require of…of Sharpclaw?"

He yelped as Bloodfang grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him to eye level.

"Do you see that abbey, ferret?" The menacing figure asked, turning the unfortunate officer towards the structure.

"Y-y-yes, sire."

Bloodfang let him go, smiling villainously as the ferret clamored to his paws. "I have a job for you, my loyal Sharpclaw. I am not one to blindly stumble into a frontal assault, even if my adversaries are monks and young, plump, juicy mice. What I need is intelligence, facts, details of what lay beyond those walls. Your job is to sneak into that place and gather as much information as possible. You will pose as an injured traveler, looking for a safe haven. When you are inside, do not tell anyone who you are or where you are from. Escape when you can tell me every detail about this place, down to the number of seats in the dining hall. Understand?"

A look of puzzlement came over Sharpclaw's flea-bitten and dirt covered face. "But, sire, I'm…I'm not an injured traveler."

Bloodfang grinned maliciously as he drew a large skinning knife. "Not yet."

The soft padding of pawsteps echoed down the great hallway as Joeb walked beside Abbot Mengrid. They spoke in hushed tones, trying to avoid the sound of their conversation echoing.

"I understand," Joeb whispered. "But Father Abbot, he has more potential than you give him credit for. I know a good archer when I see one, believe me. Ten seasons in the great wars of the southern plains taught me…"

The gray-furred mouse raised a paw. "There is no need to remind me of your service to bring peace to this land, Joeb. I have read your journals and the accounts of those who served beside you. There is no doubt in my mind that you are skilled in this field. However, now is not the time for such things."

Joeb stopped in the middle of the hall. "Not the time for…Father, not to question your leadership, but if we ever needed this, now is the perfect time!"

The Abbot's eyes softened. "Joeb, my old friend, you know that I always trust you. But please, we must think about this before any rash action is taken."

Joeb sighed, staring straight ahead as they continued down the hall. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. "There's something about him."

Mengrid was puzzled. "Who?"

"Tamor. I'm not sure what it is, but…but I feel like I know him, from a time long past. Do you know what his father's name was?"

The Abbot scrunched up his face in concentration for a moment before answering. "Yes, I do. Tarfor, I believe it was. We found it on the note, when the cabin was discovered."

Something flashed in Joeb's eyes, bright as a bolt of lightning. "Excuse me, Father, but I have to check on something."

The old mouse was gone in a flash, even before the Abbot had time to wave a good-bye.

Joeb dashed around a corner, nearly running over Tamor, who just happened to be coming around the corner at the same time. They tumbled over each other, landing on the stone floor.

Tamor sat up and helped his friend up. "Joeb, what in the fur are you doing? Why are you running?"

The old mouse had a twinkle in his eye as he put a hand on Tamor's shoulder. "My lad, there's something we both need to find out. Hurry up, follow me."

Tamor was trailing behind with his paw locked in Joeb's before he knew what was happening. They sped around a corner and went to the end of the hall. Joeb stopped at a door and fumbled in his pocket for a set of keys, the iron clinking as he struggled to find the right one. He finally did and set it in the lock, opening the door wide.

It was the library. Rows upon rows of books, scrolls, and journals lined the walls and sat in stacks among the floor. A fine layer of dust covered everything, mixing with the stale odor of aging paper.

Tamor could only stare in wonder as Joeb rushed past and began scouring along the opposite wall, muttering to himself as his fingers traced the old bindings and faded labels.

Suddenly he gave a small shout of success and pulled out a small book, no larger than a pocket journal. The red cover and binding had long since faded to a light pallor, but still held strong as Joeb turned the pages slowly, carefully, mulling over every single page with a ferocious concentration.

Tamor snapped out of his reverie long enough to notice Joeb. He watched as the old mouse suddenly gave a shout of realization and rushed to a nearby table, muttering while he followed the lines with a finger. Tamor strolled up behind him, trying to read the page. "What book is that?" He asked inquisitively, trying to see past Joeb's head.

He answered distractedly. "My old journal. It's in here somewhere, I know it. Right after…" His voice trailed off as he stopped at a paragraph and read in silence.

Tamor was about to say something to break the awkward silence when Joeb leapt up, turning to his young companion. Tamor could only stare in puzzlement as Joeb took his face in rough paws, and tilted his head slightly to face the light from a nearby candle. "Tamor," He said, still looking intently. "Have you ever looked at your right eye, closely, I mean? In a mirror, perhaps? Have you ever noticed anything?"

Tamor's face was still a mask of confusion. "No…I haven't. Joeb, what's this about? Why are you…?"

Suddenly Joeb stopped, mouth agape and paws trembling. "It's true." He whispered, slowly lowering his paws. He leapt back to the book, scouring the lines closely.

"Joeb, what is this?"

He turned and, eyes starting to mist, smiled. "I know you, Tamor. I know your father."

Grace was rushing to and fro, helping clean up from the previous night's dinner. Pots needed scrubbing; tablecloths needed washing, and keeping a watchful eye on the little ones scurrying about. She had just set another load of plates in the bowl of soapy dish water when a hollow banging sound echoed through the hall. Instinctively, Grace knew it was coming from the main gate. Before she could even take a step towards the hallway just outside the kitchens, Mathilde was rushing past, calling out over her shoulder. "Don't worry, dear, I'll see what it is."

Grace smiled and shook her head. For being such an old badger, Mathilde could still run just as fast as any child. At least for a short while.

She had just begun to turn around to go back to her chores when a gasp and shouts for help echoed from down the hall. "Someone, please come quickly! This creature needs help!"

Grace was sprinting down the hall before the dish in her hand had fallen into the sink. Her paws thudding on the stone floor, she turned the corner and stopped, eyes widening in shock at the sight in front of her.

It was hard to distinguish what sort of creature was cradled in Mathilde's arms. The few spots of fur that weren't covered in dark stains of blood were light brown in color, but dirty and matted. Only strips of cloth remained of its clothes, and looked as if a great beast had raked them with fearsome claws. But it was the face that sent shivers up Grace's spine. Shredded, torn wounds had laid open his skin, and the snout was nothing more than a bloody stump.

The young mouse was sure it was dead until she noticed the short, wheezing breaths that hardly moved the creature's chest. Its paws twitched occasionally, along with the partially severed tail. Grace could do nothing more than stand in disgusted horror until Mathilde lifted the creature like a leaf and rushed down the hall. "Sister Flaxim!" She yelled to the nurse upstairs in the infirmary, already pounding up the steps. "Sister Flaxim, please come quick!"

Grace found herself in a sort of trance, following the elder badger up the stairs, following the droplets of blood left in her wake.

The infirmary was already in motion as Grace entered. Almost a dozen creatures were dashing about, trying to raise their voices above each other's.

"Here's those nightshade leaves, I'll get more."

"Do you need Motherwort pulp boiled in with the water?"

"Can someone please get me a clean mask?"

"Quickly, get those sewing needles ready! Make sure to boil them in clean water first."

Sister Flaxim, the resident nurse and surgical expert, was a middle-aged squirrel with the complexion of an almond. Her light green eyes darted back and forth as her quick-thinking mind went into action. "You three," she said, pointing to an ottermaid and two mice, "You can help me. Everyone else, please go. We need the room."

Any further instructions were drowned out as the unnecessary help left. Mathilde found Grace standing against the wall, trying to wrench her gaze from the pool of blood still left on floor down below. Mathilde hugged her tight, murmuring to her. "Will you be all right, Grace?"

The young mouse let herself go from the embrace and shook her head, clearing her mind. "Yes, I think so. It was just so sudden. Do you even know what kind of creature it was?" She asked, following the badger as she walked down the hall.

Mathilde shook her head. "I'm not sure, child. Maybe a mouse or an otter, but I can't be certain. All we can do is hope and pray for a quick recovery, no matter who –or what- it is."

Tamor's jaw dropped. "My…my father? What…how…"

Joeb rushed to a nearby drawer, rummaging about until he produced a small crystal mirror. He held it up to Tamor's face, trying to steady his shaking paws. "Look, Tamor. Look at your eye!"

Tamor tilted his head slightly, squinting with his good eye. "I don't see anything, Joeb. It's just like…wait, what…what _is_ that?"

His paw traced up the side of his cheek, halting just short of his eye. Barely visible in the flickering candlelight, hardly even noticeable, but it was there. Dozens of small gold flecks, sprinkled about his iris like stars in the night. Tamor's paw dropped. "Joeb, what is this?" He whispered.

Joeb put the mirror down and retrieved the journal, muttering to himself as he skimmed the pages. "The town of Bellar, spring festivities, the colonel, no…Wait, here!" He placed the book on the table between them and pointed to a line, starting to read aloud.

"I met one of the archers from another battalion today while we passed through the forest just outside of Bellar. He was a tall, spirited mouse who seemed to enjoy everything that life offered, even when we took arrow fire from a group of passing rodents. After loosing his own shafts, he laughed, saying, "I suppose it's not the arrow with my name on it that I should worry about; it's the one with 'to whom it may concern' that scares me!" I couldn't help but like him. After making camp that night, he told me his name was Tarfor, and he was from the mountains to the east. He had taken his family and moved west after bands of leopards began sprouting up. He joined in the freedom fighters to help support them, his wife and small child, Tamor.

"But it wasn't his tale that interested me the most. After looking closely in the firelight, I realized that there was what looked like gold specks in his right eye! They glittered in the dull light like jewels, and when I asked him about them, he laughed. He explained that he had lost his sight in that eye after a tumble as a child. His smile faded then, as he told me how his child, Tamor, was afflicted with the same ailment. He worried that Tamor may never grow up to be a normal mouse.

"But the next day, as we were packing up camp, we were ambushed. A horde of what looked like monstrous cats and foxes attacked, crashing through the trees. I hardly had time to get my sword before three of them were on me.

"It seemed all was lost when they all fell, pierced by the same arrow! Tarfor stood nearby, already firing his arrows with blistering speed. He yelled to the rest of us to get away while he held them off. I tried to help, but he pushed me away and told me to do the same. Each arrow he sent through the air sent another beast to its death, sometimes two. The look in his eyes convinced me to follow his advice. I turned with the rest of the survivors and retreated deeper into the woods, trying to find a suitable place to mount a defense.

"As we stopped and looked back, we saw Tarfor stumbling towards us. I realized, with horror, that he had been pierced by no less than five shafts. The vermin were close behind, and I charged them, bellowing at the top of my lungs. But it was too late.

"Just as it seemed that Tarfor would fall, he whipped out two curved short swords, like no other weapons I have ever seen. He slashed, hacked, and stabbed until a veritable tidal wave of enemies finally brought him down, but not before taking half of them with him.

"I was dragged away by the rest of my company, screaming and crying out his name. The vermin chased us long into the night, until we found a way across a large river and into a thick band of marshes. We wandered for almost two full seasons, losing almost half of our original force through marching alone. I was separated sometime afterwards, and stumbled west until finding the Abbey.

"To this day I can still remember Tarfor, laughing and joking, even towards the bitter end. I can still see his arrows streaking through the air, and his two swords glittering in the fog-tinted twilight. And I can still see the gold not only in his eyes, but in his soul as well."

Tamor was weeping, covering his face in both paws. Joeb placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There, now, Tamor. I know this must be difficult for you, but…"

He was surprised when the young mouse looked up, smiling through the tears. "Joeb, do you realize what this means? My father was a hero! He didn't leave me to die, he…he loved me! I'm…I'm…" The tears came again, but this time they were burning with joy.

Joeb smiled and hugged him briefly. "Yes, he did. Very much. And he still does, Tamor, which is why I have to tell you something."

Tamor looked back up as Joeb released him. "What, what is it?"

Joeb slowly sat up and paced to the wall, absentmindedly tracing the corner of a book. "Your father went by another name, one he used only in front of his close friends. Tamdril. It was the title given to him by a master archer, the one who trained him."

Tamor's hand flew to his pocket, retrieving the small strip of cloth that he carried with him everywhere. He stared at the picture of the mouse on it. A bow in his hands, and two swords, carried across his back in criss-crossing sheaths.

His paws started trembling. "My father…my father was Tamdril? How…why did he never tell anyone? Why didn't he…"

Joeb looked at him. "It is not an ordinary name. The archer who trained your father, he bestowed a title upon every one of his students. It is a special title, one of extreme honor and privilege. He also gave them two swords, each with that name engraved on their blades. They were made from the same metal as his student's arrowheads and the wood the same as the bow."

Tamor stood, picking up Joeb's faded journal and flipping through the pages. "You said my father was ki…overwhelmed by your attackers. That means he couldn't possibly have left our family to die!" A frown crossed his features. "But then…who could have?"

"I think I have an idea," Joeb said grimly, already flipping the yellowed journal pages. "Yes, here it is. I learned after arriving at the abbey that the group that attacked us was one that belonged to Bloodfang, Zalluk Bloodfang. He comes from the mountains to the North, but had evidently been moving southwest when he attacked us. It's not a surprise he found the abbey."

"Then what can we do?" Tamor said, disheartened. "If he was able to do that to your band, then imagine what he would do to the abbey! We don't stand a chance here!" He buried his face in his paws. "We're doomed!"

Tamor jumped when the book slammed onto the wooden table and Joeb stared at him. "No, we are not!" He nearly shouted. He planted a finger on the pages of the book as a fire that Tamor had never seen burned in his eyes. "We are not doomed! We will survive, we will succeed! And you will lead us to victory, Tamor, son of Tamdril!"

His voice remained strong as he continued, resting both hands on the book. "Tamor, you are no ordinary mouse. You carry the spirit of your father, one of the most noble and valiant fighters I have ever had the honor of befriending. You will learn the way of the archer, the way of your father!" He stopped and slumped down in the chair, visibly exhausted from his sudden burst of energy and excitement.

Tamor's eyes were dry now, gaping in wonder as Joeb sat back down. "What must I do?" he whispered.

Joeb answered tiredly. "I will take you to the creature who trained your father; he will teach you all that you need. But for now, we wait. This storm is too harsh to travel through, and winter will be soon in coming. There will only be a few days when we can begin our journey north. Until then, rest and make sure the abbey can defend itself."

The light in Tamor's eyes faded. "Joeb, I hope you realize that these abbey creatures aren't warriors. They don't know the first thing of warfare or fighting."

Joeb's face settled back into another of his smug, knowing grins. "Not yet. I haven't quite forgotten my days of swordplay and brawling. We'll teach them something yet."

Before another word could be spoken, the library door flew open, Grace running to Joeb. "Come quickly, there's something you need to see. A creature, injured horribly. Mathilde needs our help."

Tamor was on his feet before Joeb could close his journal. "What sort of creature? Was he one of Bloodfang's horde?"

Grace shook her head. "I couldn't even tell. His injuries are too severe. But hurry, please!"

The next morning was cold and gray as Tamor strolled the courtyard with Grace at his side. He had been telling her of Joeb's plan to head north, to find the beast who had trained his father.

"…deep in the mountains, Joeb said." Tamor continued, pointing to the north. "He doesn't know what sort of creature it is, or exactly where he lives, but that we'd find him." He sighed, looking down at the cobble-stone path they walked on. "I'm…I'm scared, Grace. What if the abbey is attacked while we're gone? I can't bring myself to think of what would happen to all these poor creatures if…" He tore himself away from the thought with a shiver.

Grace's paw patted his gently. "Tamor, you need to do this. You are our only hope of defeating that monster. And besides, you heard Joeb. He would help train our fighters, so we can help ourselves."

Tamor stared at the ashen-gray clouds overhead. "I hope he can, Grace. Otherwise I'd never forgive myself if we didn't get back in time."

Grace stopped him with a pull on his arm. He stared into her sea-green eyes, enthralled in their beauty. "Tamor," She said soothingly, "You _will_ get back in time, and we _will_ be alright. You have to trust yourself, trust that you are the creature destined to save us."

Tamor couldn't help but smile along with Grace. "Thank you, with all my heart."

Grace couldn't stop the two small dots of red from appearing on her auburn cheeks. "You're welcome," She said, giving him another kiss on the cheek, which sent another bolt of surprise through his body.

She pulled him along playfully and laughed as he stood dumbstruck. "Come on then, you'd better go meet Joeb in front of the bell tower. He said not to be late."

They made their way along the path until they found Joeb, with about a dozen other creatures arrayed around him. He was holding an Oakwood staff in one paw, gesturing with the other. He noticed Tamor slipping into the back of the group, winking slightly.

Grace gave Tamor another peck before wandering off. Joeb tried to conceal his amusement. "As you can see," he said, letting one end of the staff fall into his paw with a thud, "This shaft carries more weight in each end than in the middle, so the force can be better concentrated. The staff is a simple, yet very versatile weapon. It can block, thrust, strike, and even fend off sword attacks if done correctly.

"Tamor," He said suddenly, glancing towards the back of the group. "If you would be so kind as to step forward a moment, my lad."

Tamor did so hesitantly, catching a staff that Joeb tossed to him. "Right, then," the older mouse said, settling into a relaxed fighting position, with the staff extended towards Tamor and his feet slightly apart. "Have at it!"

The smooth wood felt familiar in Tamor's hands as he lunged forward confidently, aiming for a low jab towards Joeb's legs.

With a glint of amusement in his eyes, Joeb sprang into action. He swept Tamor's staff away while spinning one of the thicker, heavier ends towards his opponent's legs. With a flick, Joeb sent the young mouse's feet flying out from under him and onto his back. Joeb brought the opposite end down in a circular motion, halting just as the end of the staff was mere inches from Tamor's skull.

"And that is why you _never _underestimate an opponent." he said, helping Tamor to his feet. "Come at me again, from above this time."

Tamor did so, a little more hesitantly. Joeb went through the motions slowly, demonstrating each movement with precision. He caught the staff with his own, stepping back while letting the weapon slide down and then to the side, straight into his opponent's temple.

After a few more demonstrations, Joeb split the creatures into pairs and had them practice, carefully observing every motion as they worked. Tamor was paired with another mouse, who was about the same age. He realized a few minutes into the drills that he was one of the creatures who had harassed him during the feast. The other creature didn't realize this, focusing intently on the drills. A bubbling fury rose up in Tamor's chest.

The mouse went for a low sweeping strike. Tamor blocked, hooked his leg, and sent him falling to the ground. Before the creature had time to even utter a cry for help, Tamor's staff was screaming towards his head. He closed his eyes as the weapon closed in, ready to do its work.

All Tamor saw was a reddish-brown blur when another staff intercepted his with a _crack! _And then stars, as it was whipped up into his face. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his back as blood started to drip from his nose.

He was hauled roughly to his paws. As his vision cleared, Tamor saw Joeb's anger and rage-contorted face. "What were you doing?" he shouted, grabbing the young mouse by the collar. "What were you _thinking?"_

Tamor tried to speak, but Joeb wasn't giving him the chance. "Don't give me excuses! I saw what you were trying to do. You could have killed him, you fool! And yes, I know who he is, I know he taunted you. But that gives you no right to try and hurt him, try and _kill _him! A true warrior never seeks vengeance against his foes, no matter what the offense! Remember that, Tamor. Now go! Get yourself cleaned up and don't come outside unless I tell you!"

Tamor was shocked and stunned, watching as veins pulsed in Joeb's face and a bead of sweat rolled down a cheek. He stumbled to his feet, a ball of ice slowly growing in his stomach.

_What did I just try and do?_

A few minutes later, he sat on the edge of his bed, a damp cloth held to his nose. Phrases from Joeb's fury-ridden tirade still ran through his head, sharp as daggers and cold as a blizzard.

_What is wrong with me? What kind of monster am I?_

A knock on the door snapped him out of the trance-like state. He mumbled something along the lines of "come in", but leaped to his feet when Joeb slipped into the doorway and shut it behind him.

For a moment, neither spoke, standing in awkward silence. Finally, Joeb sighed and spoke in a measured, calm voice. "I'm not going to say that I'm sorry for what I said, because that isn't true. Every bit of what I said to you is the truth, and that isn't going to change. However, I did overreact, and for that I am sorry. It wasn't right for me to yell at you, not in front of all the others.

"But you have to realize something, Tamor." He said, sitting down at the edge of another bed. "Killing another creature is…you can never take it back. It is something that haunts you for every day after, until your own death. What you almost did today is something that has driven some to sheer madness. It isn't something I want you to experience."

Tamor hung his head. "I understand, Joeb. And I'm sorry. With your permission, I want to go apologize to the mouse I almost hit."

Joeb brightened a bit, getting up and putting an arm around his shoulders. "That's what I like to hear. That is the mark of a true warrior; being humble and admitting mistakes."

They made their way onto the lawn, where practice was still going. Tamor saw the mouse he had nearly hit, checking his staff for cracks and other damages. He jumped when Tamor approached and cleared his throat to get his attention.

Tamor stared him in the eyes. "I want to apologize, for earlier. It wasn't right, and I hope you'll accept my apology."

A small smile spread across the other mouse's brown and black-striped face. "Apology accepted. And I'm…I'm sorry for calling you names that night at the feast. It was a horrible thing to do."

Tamor smiled and held out a paw. "Thank you."

He shook it, nodding. "Ralym Strongpaw. Nice to make your acquaintance, Tamor. Now," he said, picking up his staff. "Are you up for another round?"

Dinner that night was a rushed affair, due to the fact that many of the moles and otters had volunteered for construction and defensive duties, reinforcing the walls and gathering supplies in case a large siege began.

Tamor had a hard time lifting his paws that night, sore and tired from a long day of practice. Grace sat on one side of him, Raylim the other. They were quickly becoming friends, despite their rocky start. Grace couldn't help but like the burly mouse, who seemed strong enough to lift anything they proposed to him.

"That table?"

"Oh, aye. I did that last week helping one of the kitchen workers."

"Alright then, one of the stone blocks from the wall?"

"Of course! How do you think they built this place? Not without my help, I'll tell you!"

All three laughed, trying not to upset their bowls of soup. Tamor had just recovered from a bout of laughing fits when a thought crossed his mind. "Not to be intrusive, but…do you have parents?"

Raylim's bright eyes faded slightly. "They died when I was young, but I can still remember my mother. She had the same kind of brownish-gray fur as me, but lighter in such a way it would glow in the morning sun. She always had some sort of treat or surprise for me. But they both became ill, a horrible disease…" His voice trailed off for a moment, lost in pain and sorrow.

He snapped back into the realm of the present. "They told me to get away and find someplace safe. I came here when I was only a few seasons old." He tried to brush away a tear by pretending he was coughing into a paw.

Tamor gently squeezed his shoulder. "I understand. My parents both died before I could know them." A paw traced up his own cheek absentmindedly. "My father had the same…affliction as me. That's why I have it as well."

Raylim shifted slightly. "I still feel horrible for the things I said to you, Tamor. Please…"

Tamor waved a paw in dismissal. "Forgive and forget, friend. That's in the past now, and I forgive you."

Grace smiled as her paw found its way into her friend's. "Spoken like a true warrior."

He couldn't stop the blood from rising in his cheeks, and Raylim roared laughter. "Ahaha! The brave warrior is a little bashful, eh?"

Tamor leapt on him, wrestling and laughing as they both fell to the floor. They were locked in mock combat until they felt a presence behind them made them look up. Joeb stood there, paws on his hips and a smile playing on his mouth. "Well, now. If you two still aren't done bickering, I suppose there's always kitchen duty to straighten a couple of rogues out!"

They scrambled to the feet, smoothing their habits. "Ah, that won't be necessary," Raylim said, standing in his best imitation of an 'attention' pose. Tamor tried as well, clicking his heels together. "No, sir! No more foolishness from us, sir!"

Joeb let out a gut-shaking chortle. "Very well then. But I would like to see Tamor, privately."

Tamor glanced, puzzled, at Raylim, who shrugged. He followed Joeb out the hall doors, onto the front steps of the building. He shivered slightly in the cool fall evening, looking up at the cloud-choked sky above. "So what's this about?" He asked after a moment of silence, shifting from one paw to the other.

Joeb sighed and set his jaw. "We will be leaving for the north soon, within two week's time. Only the abbot knows of our plan, and he has promised to stay quiet about the whole affair." He took a short breath and put a paw on his companion's shoulder. "Tamor, this will be a long and dangerous journey. There are creatures that live in that place that…you have never even heard of, let alone seen. I need to know, are you sure you can complete this task?"

"Yes," Tamor's face was set in stone as he nodded. "Yes, I can, and I will. On my father's name I swear it!"

Joeb smiled slightly, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Good, that's what I like to hear. Now, there are some details that…"

There was a sudden chorus of snapping branches and a muffled _oomf! _to their left, near a small band of sycamores lining the pathway. Joeb immediately drew his dagger, the steel glistening even in the dim light. "Whoever's there," he hissed, with a tone sharp enough to cut stone, "Come out now or face my wrath!"

There was a short exchange of mumbling before Raylim stepped out from a bush underneath one of the trees, still pulling branches and leaves out of his fur. Grace followed shortly behind, much less damaged but still glowering slightly at her friend.

They stood before Joeb sheepishly under his stern gaze. He slid the dagger back into its sheath as he scolded them. "What were you two doing, eavesdropping on us like that? What part of 'privately' did you not understand?"

Grace spoke before anyone else, her voice firm and certain. "We're coming with you two. You need help in your journey, and we can do that."

Joeb couldn't stifle a guffaw. "No offense meant, mousemaid, but I'm not sure you realize the dangers that come in stride with this journey. I have done it before, and I can tell you that…"

In the blink of an eye, something flickered from Grace's paw and through the air, flashing like silver in the moonlight and landing in the side of a tree with a dull thud.

Tamor's eyes widened in shock as he saw the knife embedded in the tree trunk, still quivering. Joeb's jaw had actually dropped, and he had trouble putting together a sentence. Something unusual for the quick-witted and sharp-minded mouse. "How…what did…what?"

Grace's face twitched with a smug grin as her hand rested in the secret pocket on her robe, just under one arm. "Would you like to see another?" She asked, producing a knife that was just under one paw in length, made of glittering steel. Double-edged, and sharp as a razor. She twirled it expertly, tossing it from tip to handle, catching it with ease.

Tamor was finally able to choke out a response. "Grace, how…how did you learn this?"

She stopped tossing the knife and slid it gently back into place. "My father," she said quietly, trying to hide her eyes. "He taught me, before…"

Tamor remembered hearing about her father. He had died many seasons ago, from an illness that also took her mother and half a dozen other beasts.

He could still see the pain in her eyes, like she had been struck with a whip. He strode forward and wrapped her tightly in his arms briefly, before turning back to Joeb. "You just saw that yourself, old one. We could use someone with a skill such as that. And Raylim here is as strong as an oak. He could probably swing a rat like a club."

Raylim grinned. "Aye, that I could. Been a while since I laid my hands on a vermin, let me tell you."

Joeb sighed, rubbing his brow. "Stubborn little…Alright then, why shouldn't I just make you stay here at the abbey and help everyone else? After all, we could be in for a long siege if things go south, so to speak."

Raylim answered this time. "Neither of us have any special duties. No construction, no patrolling, just practicing in the courtyard and chores."

Joeb took one look at the fire of honesty in each of their eyes, and knew he had been beat. He couldn't help but smile in grudging admiration. "You two aren't going to give up easily, are you? Well then, I suppose that settles it. In two weeks, we depart from the abbey and head north. Pack lots of food and clothes, its cold in the mountains."


	4. Chapter 4 Celayna

Two weeks passed far too slowly for Tamor's liking. Every day he trained in the courtyard with Raylim and Joeb, learning basic movements with the staffs and occasionally play-sword fighting.

Raylim seemed a bit more tired than usual during those weeks. Tamor couldn't put his finger on it, but his friend seemed just a bit sorer each morning he arrived. There were sometimes bruises on his arms and legs, but his eyes seemed to be more alive than ever. When he asked about it, Raylim smiled and winked. "You'll see in a little while," he said.

After supper on one particularly dreary night, Tamor went upstairs to his room and took his evening stock of the supplies in his pack. Joeb had wanted the packs ready for days now, checking each one carefully. After that, he slipped into bed and fell asleep.

It had seemed to him that his eyes had just closed when a hand clamped across his mouth, stifling him. Tamor panicked, trying to break free from his attacker. But in the dull moonlight he saw Joeb, holding a finger to his lips for silence. Tamor caught his breath and nodded.

Joeb let him go and threw him his pack. "Come on," he whispered in the thick, black silence. "We're leaving. Grace and Raylim are already up, they're waiting downstairs." Tamor was already slipping into a set of green pants and shirt, with a light cloak wrapped around it.

Tamor fumbled with the sack, still half-asleep. "What time is it?" He asked groggily, pulling the strap over his shoulder.

Joeb was already headed towards the door. "Time to go."

They slipped silently through the dark halls, each pawstep like a drum in Tamor's ears. But they weren't stopped as they made their way down to the hall.

Tamor's eyes had gradually adjusted to the darkness, and he was able to pick out Grace and Raylim standing near the front door. Grace wore a light gray habit instead of the usual green, and Raylim had replaced his green one with a dark brown vest and shirt, along with simple tan pants. But there was something else, something hanging across his back.

"Raylim," Tamor whispered in amazement as they assembled in front of the door, "Is that…is that an axe?"

He smiled, reaching behind his right shoulder and slipping the weapon out of its leather sheath. It was a double-headed axe, with almost a three-foot long handle wrapped in leather. The head was not overly large, but both sides had a deadly curve and perfectly honed edge. Raylim took a few swings with it, the weapon flashing through the air like a silver blur.

"Alright, alright." Joeb halted the performance. "Enough of that. I didn't teach you how to use that so you could chop someone's paw off before we even get a chance to get outside. Tamor," He said, picking something up from a nearby table. "Take this."

Tamor caught the staff clumsily in the thick darkness. "I'll be going first," Joeb said, tucking the olive-colored hood over his head. "Stay at least ten feet apart while we're on the trail, and don't. Make. A. Sound."

All three nodded. Joeb slipped out the door and padded across the front lawn, towards the main gate.

Tamor went next, with Grace following and Raylim taking the rear. They swept across the dew-coated grass, making as much sound as a ghost slipping through the night. The moon was obscured by clouds, only small shafts of light poked through the thick layer of haze.

They reached the gate and remained silent as Joeb opened the door with agonizing slowness. Checking to make sure it was safe, Joeb beckoned them with a paw and they hurried outside.

Tamor could feel his heart racing in his chest, bursting with excitement and fear. Every sound and subtle movement in the night seemed amplified ten-fold to his adrenaline-fueled body. A small crunch of leaf sounded like the earth wrenching in two, and a small flitter of tree branches looked to be a horde of vermin ready to ambush them.

He could only take a deep breath as Joeb took off once again, flitting between bushes and clumps of trees like an insect scurrying across the forest floor. Tamor tried his best to follow as silently as he could, but it became painfully obvious that his friend had significantly more experience in the art of moving through the forest.

The trees soon began to thicken as they moved north. Soon branches began to tear at their clothing, grabbing and snarling them in sharp clutches. More than once, one of them would trip and fall, landing on the leaf-covered ground with a teeth-grating crunch. Joeb would occasionally halt the procession for minutes at a time, simply listening and observing the forest around them.

Their paws began to get sore from treading across the branch and rock-strewn ground. Breath came in short, ragged gasps as they force air into their starved lungs. By the time Joeb finally called a halt; all three younger creatures were bruised and exhausted. Tamor slumped down against a mossy tree with a contended sigh. As he picked small twigs and briars out of his fur, he took a moment to survey their campsite.

It was a small clearing on the side of a large hill, overlooking the abbey far below. Tamor gulped as he realized how high they were. The plains stretched out far to the south, and more mountains rose up beside them. As his eyes surveyed the land splayed out in front of him, he noticed something else. A dull glow, just half a league to the abbey's northeast.

"It's the vermin camp." He jumped as Joeb whispered, settling down beside him. "They've been inching their way closer each day, I can tell. The day will soon come when they will attack."

Tamor absentmindedly fingered the edge of his tunic, hardly feeling the rough fabric beneath his fingers. "Maybe this is a mistake. If we can drive them back long enough, it could give us time to…"

Joeb shook his head. "No. The abbey wouldn't stand a chance without you, Tamor. You're the only hope these creatures have, whether they know it or not."

Both sat in silence for a moment before Tamor whispered again. "What do you know of this creature who trained my father?"

Joeb shrugged. "Not as much as I would like. All that I could ever get out of Tarfor was that he was the greatest archer who ever lived, and took up living in the Pine Mountains to the north. But I have this strange feeling that we'll find him, or he'll find us, one way or the other."

Tamor couldn't stop from smiling at his friend's certainty. "So do I," he said, as sleep took him.

Bloodfang sat, alone, in his tent. Surrounded by weapons of every shape, size, and degree of murderous elegance, he guided his gnarled and stained paws over the blade of a scimitar, sliding the stone down the keen edge with years of practice and form. After a few more strokes, he held the blade up to examine in the candlelight, grinning savagely at the bright edge.

Without a sound, he brought the curved blade down into a nearby fox skull. It didn't shatter, but was sliced cleanly in half with a _schick _sound. The bottom stayed where it was, while the top wobbled and fell to the dirt floor.

The leopard grunted in satisfaction, sliding the weapon into his waist sash. A snap of his fingers brought a weasel scurrying into his tent, scrambling on all fours. The vermin was particularly clumsy and short-minded, after a stone had struck him in the night some weeks ago. His partner on watch, Halftail, had not been so lucky.

"Listen closely, Slagg," he hissed. "Soon we will be marching on that abbey in force. Within the next week, I expect to be drinking from the skull of a mouse. Go muster the troops, tell them to prepare for battle. We will destroy that abbey, and every beast inside it."

Slagg bobbed his head up and down, smiling as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. "Yeth, thire! I tell them plentygood, ya ya!"

Bloodfang resisted the urge to knead his head with a paw. "Good, now get out of my tent. I don't want to have to listen to your babble anymore."

The weasel stumbled outside again, leaving Bloodfang with a look of disgust on his face. "With any luck, he'll be killed in the fight."

The four travelers were already underway by the time dawn broke the next day, cold but bright. With breath turning into smoke-like vapor in front of their faces, they pressed on through the choking mass of trees. Joeb seemed to be some sort of ghoul, slipping between the pines like water between rocks. Tamor and the others had a difficult time keeping up, occasionally sprinting to get back within shouting distance.

But the going slowly became easier as the trees began to thin slightly, and the ground turned to hard dirt and rocks instead of the thick underbrush they had been trampling through. Tamor looked up from his feet for a moment, which he had been watching intently as to make sure he avoided any sharp rocks, and gasped.

The mountain that stood in front of them was beyond anything Tamor could have ever imagined. Sharp, jutting cliffs and slopes rose into the sky like a pointed claw, and the top was shrouded in a thick layer of clouds. Snow ran in jagged spurs across the slopes, like branches from a tree.

Tamor was able to tear his gaze away long enough to look around. To his left, the forests and plains seemed so far away that he never could have imagined crossing them in such a short time. And on the right, dozens, if not hundreds of mountains shot up into the sky, just as sharp and intimidating as the one before him. They rolled into the horizon, as would the swell of a violent sea.

Suddenly, Joeb was standing beside him. Tamor paid him little attention until he raised a paw. "Do you see the forest?" He shouted above the harsh, biting winds that howled through the steppe.

Tamor squinted, trying to see past the thick haze that blocked most of the mountain. But after a moment, he saw it. A thin band of green, no more than a sliver on the gigantic mountainside. "Yes, I see it!"

Joeb nodded. "That's where he is. Maybe three, four more days of travel. Keep yourself warm, otherwise that creature is going to be the least of your worries!"

He gulped, straining to pick out details of the small strip of woods. _We have to _walk _there? We'll never make it!_

Grace, who had caught up to him, squeezed his already half-numb paw. "We'll get there," She said over the wind, "Just keep walking!"

Tamor smiled and pulled her close for a moment before continuing on. The dirt seemed to be as hard as rock, frozen from so many seasons of bitter cold. He pulled his cloak a little tighter and tried to think of anything but the cold.

They marched for what seemed like ages until Joeb found them a suitable spot to rest. It was a pitifully small cave, carved into the side of a shallow slope. They managed to huddle together in the tiny space, with just enough room left over to start a meager fire.

All four sighed in satisfaction as the small flames sputtered into life. Joeb had found a tiny stash of dry wood nearby, from a pile of desperate shrubs clinging to life near the cave entrance.

As they ate, Tamor glanced around the cave. The dull, ruddy light from the fire barely illuminated the granite walls, but he was able to make out some small details. Some meager-looking plants, more loose rocks, even…

"Joeb, look at this." He said, pointing at what looked like a strip of cloth in the rear corner of the cave. "Some other creatures must have used this place as a shelter."

The older mouse tore a chunk out of a bread loaf and chewed thoughtfully. "I can imagine so. Seems to be the only shelter for miles."

Tamor's curiosity prevailed and he leaned forward, picking up the cloth.

He yelped as something clattered out from underneath it, towards the fire. The yelp turned into a gasp of horror at what he saw.

A skull; yellowed and cracked. The gaping eye sockets seemed to plead for help, while the clacking jaws grinned with the horror only a demon could muster.

Tamor's voice caught in his throat, while the two younger creatures scrambled away. Joeb gently placed a paw on Tamor's shoulder, pulling him away slowly. He picked up the skull, glancing at it for only a moment before his eyes widened in shock. "Go," he whispered, letting the morbid thing clatter to the cave floor. "Get out, now! We haven't much time, now…"

His voice was cut off by the most blood-chilling cry any of them had ever heard. It felt like a dagger was being slid into the side of Tamor's skull, and he held his paws over his ears. The screech was like something from a nightmare, something you wanted to lock away and never hear again as long as you lived.

He felt Joeb's paw grab him under one arm and heave. Scrambling for his pack, he slipped it on and rushed towards the exit with the others.

A swath of black rammed straight into his frame. Tamor felt the wind knocked from his lungs and fell backwards, sliding on the loose rock. He opened his eyes just in time to see the phantom leaping towards him, grinning white teeth bared and razor-like claws grabbing for his flesh.

Joeb's roar seemed to shake the very earth under his feet. He flung himself at the thing, dagger flashing like silver lightning.

An ear-splitting keen cut the silence as the weapon struck its mark. Something warm and wet splattered across Tamor's face, but he didn't stop to check as he scrambled to his feet, staff raised as Joeb stood next to him.

The thing was like nothing Tamor could have imagined. Sleek, pitch-black fur covered the entire creature, except for the piercing green eyes that glared at them with murderous lust. It clamored to its paws, hissing while it held a paw to the bleeding gash in its chest.

Joeb roared again, shaking the dagger in one paw. The beast replied with the same ear-splitting cry as before, slipping away from the cave like a shadow in the night.

Tamor's breath finally returned. "Joeb, what…what _was _that?"

He was already fumbling for his pack, panic etched into his features. "No time now, we have to get out! Hurry, make for the forest. Don't stop, no matter what!"

Fear leapt into Tamor's chest. He had never seen Joeb like this, not in this state. They rushed out of the cave as more cries assaulted them, seeming to come from every corner of the mountain. Tamor caught glimpses of shadowy movements, flashing from the rocky outcroppings like ghosts. The cries rang out all around them like they were coming from the sky.

The sprinted along the rocky mountain spine, gasping for breath. Joeb yelled out from up ahead. "Don't…stop…running! We can…make it…to the trees…if we hurry!"

The four sprinted as fast as their aching, burning legs could carry them. The forest still seemed so far away, almost like it was shrinking as they ran. Tamor's ears rang with the piercing cries of the beasts pursuing them, like they were jeering and hissing with anticipation.

Tamor shut his eyes, his breath turning into wheezing sobs. Tears of dread and horror ran down his cheeks, quickly turning to ice-cold droplets in the mountain air. He could feel himself weakening by the second. Each step seemed longer than the last, and every movement sent claws of pain ripping through his legs.

Suddenly, a tree branch slapped him across the cheek. Tamor's eyes shot open as the dark green expanse of trees collided with the four creatures. The dark, shadowy depths of the forest suddenly closed around them as the screaming continued, now even closer than before. Tamor gritted his teeth and took one more step. His footpaw snagged on a tree root and sent him sprawling, grinding his palms and face against the sharp rocks and soil.

He managed to roll over as the black figure descended upon him, teeth glinting in the dull light and claws poised for their deadly work. Tamor couldn't even close his eyes as the thing closed in, roaring as it tensed itself for the kill.

It suddenly stopped mid-step, stumbling for a few feet until it halted, swaying back and forth. A look of confusion crossed its face as it traced a paw along its chest, suddenly stopping at the heart. With a small groan, the green eyes rolled back inside its skull and it toppled backward, landing in a heap.

The screeching cries suddenly ceased. Tamor actually saw another creature halted in mid-sprint, just a stone's throw to his left. One of its ears twitched slightly before growling in fear and disappearing back towards the mountain.

Joeb was immediately at Tamor's side, helping the stunned mouse to his feet. "Are you alright?" He asked worriedly, checking his friend for wounds. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Tamor could only shake his head with his eyes wide as saucers and mouth agape. He lifted a shaking paw and pointed at the dead beast in front of him and murmured. "Joeb, what…what is that?"

Joeb carefully approached the fallen creature and prodded it with his dagger before answering. "Panther," He said, kneeling down next to the carcass. "A kind of cat. Primal, ferocious beasts. They'll tear you limb from limb with just a claw, and it's near impossible to see them until it's too late. Whatever stopped this one…"

His voice trailed off, astonished. There was a perfectly round hole, straight through the creature's heart. A single drop of blood leaked from the wound, trailing down the matte black fur like a scarlet teardrop.

"Tamor, I think we need to leave." He said, standing up and nervously glancing around. Raylim had appeared, along with Grace. They had accidentally run past their friends until they realized their mistake. Raylim tapped the head of his axe anxiously. "I think Joeb's right, something seems out of place here, but I can't put my paw on it."

Tamor nodded, shaking his head to clear it and starting to trudge on ahead. "Me too. We should probably start walking, it's still early in the…"

Something rustled ahead and he looked up. There was a large hill straight ahead, and the bushes covering the slope were moving slightly. "What on earth…" Tamor's voice was suddenly cut off as a dozen creatures suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, each with a fully-drawn longbow held in his direction. Tamor turned to the left, only to see more of them pop out of trees and bring their weapons to bear.

The quiet rustling of leaves was the only sound that met the friends' ears as they were surrounded on all four sides. The creatures surrounding them all wore multi-colored cloaks of different shades and hues, which blended perfectly with the dark green pallor of the forest. Their faces were coated in stripes of brown and green paint, leaving only their eyes.

Not a single beast moved. Tamor could almost feel the arrowheads aimed at his chest, and knew that any threatening gesture would be met with a quick end.

Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the tense quiet. "Drop yore weapons, all of ye!"

Tamor could hear Joeb behind him, whispering to them. "Best do as they say; we're in no position to argue here."

They let their weapons clatter to the dirt. Again, the stillness of the forest was all that met their ears. That was until a creature seemed to appear from nowhere right in front of Tamor, who yelped in surprise.

He was a ferret, garbed in the same cloak all the other archers wore. But as Tamor regained his senses, he saw that the striped fur on the ferret was real, not just moss and bark paint. The creature was slightly taller than Tamor and powerfully built. They stared into one another's eyes for a few seconds before the ferret drifted around him and towards the panther.

Seeming to ignore the four creatures he held at arrow-point, he knelt by the panther's body and carefully peered into the small hole through its heart. He spoke, his voice clear and leading. "Who felled this creature?"

"I did, sir!"

The ferret motioned with a paw and a fox melted away from the rest, saluting smartly with his bow. The ferret spoke just loud enough for the fox to hear. "There are bits of feather in the wound. Make sure your fletchings are strong enough next time."

"Yes, sir!"

The fox retreated back to his position as the ferret wandered back in front of Tamor. "What is your name?" He said, his face a mask of neutrality.

Tamor managed to find his tongue. "Tamor, sir. We are just travelers, looking for…"

The ferret leaned forward just an inch. "I did not ask what you were doing, mouse," His voice was still calm, but sharp as a knife's edge. "I asked your name. Do not test my patience. Am I clear?"

Tamor tried to avoid looking at the probing, crystalline-like eyes. "Yes, sir."

The ferret nodded. "Good. Now, what is your business here? Speak truthfully, or my archers will fill you with enough arrows to sink you to the bottom of a river."

Tamor gulped. "I seek the creature who taught my father Tarfor, the archer of the west."

The ferret couldn't stop a small flicker across his striped features. "Where have you come from?"

"Redwall Abbey, south of here."

The ferret seemed to be thinking, squinting for a moment before waving his right paw. The dozens of bows lowered, staves creaking as the strings relaxed.

"Pick up your arms," he said, gesturing to the staff at Tamor's feet. "And tell your friends to follow me."

Tamor only needed look to see the other three retrieving their weapons and tromping off after the ferret, who nearly disappeared again in the lush green surrounding them.

Tamor dropped back to whisper to Joeb. "He's a ferret, Joeb. Why would a vermin have taught my father?"

Suddenly, the ferret was once again mere inches from his face. "How observant of you, mouse." He said, almost hissing. "And you'll come to find that there are more to alliances than simple blood lines. But for now, keep a silent tongue in your head."

Tamor nodded briefly, still shocked at the ferret's ability to melt into the surroundings. It seemed as if he became part of the trees and the soil itself.

They trudged on for a short while as the other archers slipped through the trees around them. Every single movement seemed calculated and precise, yet fluid and graceful as they flowed through the trees.

Tamor had looked down for just a moment to reassure himself of his footing. When he raised his head, every creature around him save for his friends were gone. The woodlands around them were eerily quiet, as if the birds and chirping insects were afraid to speak for fear of an arrow slicing through them.

He spun around to look at Joeb, who was standing dumbstruck. Raylim glanced around nervously, rubbing one paw against the hilt of his axe. Grace was fingering one of her daggers as her eyes swept over the woods.

Tamor turned and once again found himself staring into the ferret's face. "Always keep your eyes up," he said, gesturing with a paw. "It helps one avoid incidents like that. Come, follow me."

The four friends followed close behind the elusive creature, watchful for his every move.

They stopped at what appeared to be a simple moss-covered rock. The ferret motioned to it. "Go inside."

Tamor stared at the rock, unsure of what to say. "Inside? There's no…"

Before any of them could blink, the ferret had lifted the rock with a footpaw, revealing a dark tunnel entrance. He pointed into the dark abyss. "The young mouse goes first, and then the rest. I will go last."

Tamor hesitantly edged his way to the edge of the pit and dangled his footpaws over the edge. Taking a breath, he pushed himself off.

The drop was relatively short, cushioned by pine boughs and moss at the bottom. He gazed up at the sunlight-filled entrance and signaled to Joeb. "Come on, Joeb, it isn't that far."

Joeb leaped down, followed by Raylim and Grace. The ferret came last, heaving the rock into place.

Tamor was immediately struck by an astonishing sight. The tunnel glowed a luminescent green, covered by a gleaming moss that lit up the passage like a line of torches.

The ferret slinked past, ignoring their stunned expressions. "Follow me, it is not long now."

They walked behind him, almost too enthralled by the eerie, radiant walls to notice their descent into deeper labyrinths. Grace suddenly spotted a bend in the tunnel with a brighter light radiating from it. "There, there's light up ahead!"

They hurried to it, almost running into the ferret. Turning the sharp corner, they suddenly gasped in awe.

A massive cavern was laid out in front of them, so big that the creatures across the expanse looked like ants. Golden sunlight streamed in through a number of craggy openings running along the top of the massive granite walls. A spiral walkway leading around the edge of the depression circled down into what looked like a living area, where dozens of temporary huts and houses covered the gigantic space. Smoke rose from small bunches of cooking fires, and the sounds of laughter and conversation carried into the seemingly limitless ceiling, along with the clank of metal striking metal and some creature playing a stringed instrument.

The four friends stood on a huge ledge that ran around the entire circumference of the ridge. Dozens of smaller caves dotted the outcropping, some appearing to lead into more tunnels. All of the tunnels had the same glowing moss, some of it growing out around the edges of the cave entrance.

The ferret glanced over his shoulder briefly. "Welcome to Celayna."

Raylim stuttered out a question, completely astonished by the sight laid out before him. "What…_is _this place?"

"Celayna is our home," the ferret said, taking a contented breath. "Most of us came from the far east, after a great war ravaged the land. What you see is a mountain, hollowed from a mighty river that once ran through it. We made our home here, since we could find no other. It is here my levirath settled."

Tamor was able to tear himself away from the awe-inspiring sight long enough to voice a question. "Levirath? What is that?"

"In due time, mouse." he said, waving for them to follow. "All in due time. For now, I have some questions of my own. Your friends may venture down to the commons area while you and I speak privately."

Tamor waved solemnly to his friends as they separated. He followed the ferret around the edge of the main cavern, to one of the many caves dotted around the edge. The room was large enough for a bed in one corner, a fire pit centered in the granite, and a cluster of other living facets. The ferret nodded towards the fire. "Sit there, and we will speak."

He pulled a large sheet out of its hook on the wall, covering the entrance completely. Tamor sat in front of the glowing fire, warming his paws. The ferret strode over and sat across from him, staring into the dull flames for a few moments before looking up. "Your name is Tamor, you say?"

Tamor nodded. "Yes, that is my name."

"And your father was Tarfor?"

A nod. "Yes, he was. I am his only son."

'Only surviving, you mean."

Tamor's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

The ferret stirred the coals plaintively. "I know many things, young mouse. And in time, you will as well. But for now, I will ask the questions. Why have you come here?"

Tamor took a breath, starting his story at the abbey. He told the ferret of Zalluk Bloodfang and his horde, and of the danger posed to his home. He soon found himself pouring over the words, like he had been waiting ages to tell someone of his account. He told the ferret everything, except for his sight. So when the ferret interrupted with another question, he was stunned.

"Which of your eyes is afflicted like your father's?"

Tamor stuttered. "My…the right one. But how…"

The ferret glanced up. "I need only look in the firelight to see what I already knew. Your father did not lose his sight as a child; he was born with it as you were. Even I do not know why. But you bear the same markings as him, that much is undeniable." He leaned forward across the fire, his own eyes glittering in the pale yellow light. "You are bound for greatness, Tamor, son of Tarfor."

He settled back, folding his hands. "This Zalluk Bloodfang, I have encountered him before. He stormed through these mountains with his father, Zarum. They killed everything in these mountains, save for the panthers that managed to escape before the murderous scum showed themselves. But many were not so lucky. My levirath and I could only hide as the hordes swept over us. There were far too many, more than our shafts could fell."

The ferret's voice had turned to a low growl. "And now he has returned. That foul beast deserves nothing more than a dagger through his gullet."

He suddenly shivered, wincing. Coughing, he gathered himself. "And so it falls to you, Tamor." he said, standing up and walking to a nearby chest. "You will train with us, live with us, become one of us. You will become as invisible as the wind itself, and learn to defend those who have no means to do so themselves."

With a flourish, he brought out one of the earthen-hued cloaks Tamor had seen before. The ferret tossed it to him, watching as the mouse hesitantly clasped the cloak around his frame. "I'm not sure what to say," He said finally, reverently touching the cloth, "But I will do my best to honor my father's memory and wipe this scourge from the face of the earth!"

The ferret couldn't resist allowing a ghost of a smile to pass over his features. "Good," he said, kneeling in front of the fire again. "Now I imagine you have questions of your own."

Tamor managed to lift his eyes from the cloak long enough to look at the creature across from him. "What are the levirath?"

The ferret's eyes glinted with a shimmer of pride. "We are the sole protectors of Celayna, the only beasts who have taken up the call to protect those who need our help. We are no normal army or defensive measure. We have no ranks, only students and teachers. The forest and the trees are our barracks. The bow has become our crest of arms.

"Let me tell you something," he said, almost grinning with a devilish tint. "An archer is more than just a simple pawn to be placed on the battlefield and loose arrows with random obscurity. There is more than that to our craft. An archer is the ghost of the forest, only showing himself when the final enemy has fallen."

The smile quickly faded. "But it is not what many think it to be. In beast-on-beast combat, there is a sense of protection and desperate haste. A creature who kills another with a sword or dagger or spear can claim self-defense and protecting themselves. Not archers. We deal death with a blind eye to prejudice and honor. I have lost count of the number of creatures I have killed without them realizing I was even there. I can remember each face, suddenly filled with pain and shock as I loosed my arrow. They never knew what happened, what killed them."

The ferret's face was now a mask of confusion and sorrow, eyes glazed over with the memories that plagued him. "There is no comforting the troubled spirit that dwells in me. My fingers are forever stained. My bow is no longer simply a weapon; it is the very instrument of total death itself."

He looked up, eyes still pleading and troubled. "You must make a choice, Tamor. Can you live with that? Can you live, stripped of innocence and virtue?"

Tamor's eyes were shocked and filled with horror, but he was able to nod shakily and whisper. "Yes, if it means protecting the ones I love. Then yes, I can."

The ferret suddenly shook himself again. Grunting slightly as he stood, he held the blanket covering the entrance open. "Good. Then we start in the morning."

"Wait," Tamor said, holding up a paw. "One more question. Do you have a name?"

The ferret grinned. "Tazak, it is from the old language of the east."

Tamor followed him outside and into the massive cave. "What does it mean?"

But Tazak had already disappeared, leaving Tamor to stand by himself.

He managed to find a long, spiral staircase leading down to the living area inside the main cavern. He couldn't help but feel dwarfed by the monstrous slopes rising up on all sides like a giant bowl. The commons itself was so large that Tamor couldn't even see to the other end while standing on the bottom stairs.

After almost an hour of searching, he found his friends huddled around a small fire and a tent they had erected. He sat down next to them, grinning and licking his lips as a wonderful smell came drifting from a pot leaning over the flames. "Mmmm, smells good. What is it?"

Raylim stirred the contents gently. "Just some cranberry and dumpling stew I concocted. Some mint leaves, the dough we had left over from the bread, cranberries, a few almonds and beechnuts…"

Tamor clamped a paw over his friend's mouth. "Stop, please! We haven't eaten since this morning and it's already almost dark."

Joeb was busy stitching a hole in his shirt. "How do you know that," He asked, looking up from his work.

Tamor pointed to the ceiling and the large openings in the rock that let in light. "The light outside has gotten dimmer, and the fires seem to be providing a bit more illumination."

Grace couldn't stop herself from fingering the edge of Tamor's new cloak. "Did the ferret give this to you? It looks like the same ones that the creatures were wearing earlier."

Tamor nodded. "It is. Tazak gave it to me, we start training tomorrow."

"So, his name's Tazak?" Grace said, unconsciously rubbing the hilt of one of her knives. "Fitting name for a vermin."

Tamor shook his head. "He's like nobeast I've ever met. He came here with a group of refugees, a long time ago after a war came to their homelands. He and his archers, the levirath they're called, protect this place. He says that Zalluk came through this place once before and killed nearly everybeast in the forest. Only those who managed to find this place survived."

"I can imagine so," she said. "It would have been impossible to find without Tazak or one of his archers guiding us."

Raylim yelped as his paw brushed the hot caldron. "Well, it's ready for anybeast who wants it," He said, waving his scorched paw. "Eat up!"

They immediately attacked the food. After a few moments of nothing but the sound of spoons scraping the plates, Joeb looked up. "So," he said, stirring his food slowly. "You start tomorrow, eh? What do you think that ferret will be teaching you? If it's anything like what we saw those creatures accomplish today, Zalluk doesn't stand a chance."

Tamor stared into his bowl, as if the answers to his problems lay in the creamy soup. "He never said, only that I would become one of them, one of his archers. He told me…" The look in Tazak's eyes jumped into Tamor's mind. The deep, impenetrable guilt and sadness that seemed to pour out of those dark pits.

He blinked. "He told me about my father, about what he did. He said that my father was born with his blindness, like me. He didn't lose it as a child."

Joeb grunted. "That ferret seems to know more than even I did. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not."

Raylim nodded. "Aye, that's the truth. But I suppose if this beast taught your father, then all we can do is hope."

Tamor smiled. "Thank you, all of you. I know this was a dangerous journey, and things may not have gone as planned, but somehow I feel that this is what needs to happen, like my father would have wanted it."

Grace slipped her paw into his, smiling as he blushed slightly. "I'm sure he would have, Tamor. Wherever he is now, I'm sure he's proud of you."

Tamor couldn't stop a single tear from rolling down his cheek. "I know he is."


	5. Chapter 5 Red on the Evergreens

This chapter took a little work on my part, as it took some more incorporating of Tamor's father and some other factors. Anyway, pretty short description. Redwall belongs to Brian Jacques (God rest his soul) and not me. But Tamor, Grace, Joeb, etc. do.

Read and Review! DO IT!

* * *

Zalluk Bloodfang donned his battle armor with a rustle of metal chain. The gray steel links clinked together as he buckled on a large sword belt of mottled leather, taken from every of his personally defeated foes. A glinting steel helmet settled on his scarred head. The head covering was adorned with a set of eagle talons, and a large crosspiece came down to settle over his nose and jaw, leaving only his eyes and teeth visible.

He selected his gauntlets, another garment of chain maille. A full set of gleaming bear claws were affixed to each of the fingers, and they clattered together as the gloves flexed and clinked together.

The leopard turned to his weapons wall and smiled. "Ah, so many choices, such little time." He selected two curved sabers, four throwing daggers forged from the same steel as his armor, and a spear with a head as hooked and deadly as the bear claws resting on his fingers. Testing the edge of the spearhead, he grinned and bared his sharpened teeth. "This will be my day of conquest; this will be my day of victory!"

"Sire, the horde is ready for your command!" Zalluk didn't even bother to turn around at the announcement of his second-in-command, Leathernose. Instead, he ran a mailed paw over the handle of one a saber, grunting in acknowledgement. "Good, have them assembled on the parade ground in five minutes. Any stragglers get the rod, am I clear enough?"

Leathernose, wearing a pitiful set of improvised plate armor, saluted smartly with his sword. "Yes, Sire! It will be done!"

Zalluk scowled as the rat hurried out of the tent. "Those walls will not be breached. I must find their weak spot, anywhere it may be." He glanced at the crude drawing of the abbey one of his officers had constructed. He noticed a small indent on one of the walls with a speck of writing underneath. Looking closely, he suddenly smiled and allowed himself a small chuckle. "Well now, a side gate? What luck. If all else fails it can be burned down and stormed through."

With a final check of his weapons, Bloodfang strode out of his tent and into the gray mist of the early morning. Hundreds of torches burned in the mist, casting a ruddy light over the field. His massive army stood silent, shivering slightly as the cold, wet fog seeped through their armor.

The leopard swept his eyes over the horde. With a grating of steel-on-steel, he drew a saber and held it above his head. Letting a mighty roar tear from his lips, he pointed the sword at the abbey, silhouetted in the dark mist. "We give no surrender, no mercy! Kill, kill them all! I am Zalluk Bloodfang, warlord of the north! None shall stand against me and live! The lands will run red by nightfall! Go, kill! Kill! Kill!"

The sea of vermin soldiers roared and screamed, clashing weapons together and shouting. "Kill! Kill! Kill! Bloodfang! Bloodfang! Bloodfang!"

Zalluk lowered his weapon while the mass of blood-crazed vermin swept past, straight towards the abbey. He followed close behind, screaming orders to his officers. "Left wing, hold the main gates in contact! Center and right columns, sweep around and find any way to get inside! I want this abbey taken by nightfall! Kill! Kill!"

And so the battle for Redwall abbey began.

Brother Ramdol, the salty river-otter, was down in the cellars when the sounds of yelling and clattering steel met his ears. He wandered up the steps, murmuring to himself. "Somebeast must've dropped some pots or summat in the kitchens. Clumsy little…"

As he opened the door leading to the abbey grounds, an arrow flew through the morning air and struck him in the chest, between two ribs. The impact sent a jolt through his body, almost sending him to his knees. Trying to stop the profuse bleeding coming from the wound, the otter stumbled and crawled across the grounds until he got to the bell-house.

Mathilde was organizing some crates inside the bell-house when she heard what sounded like somebeast scratching at the door. She had just turned to open it when Ramdol slumped inside, an arrow protruding from his chest. In a flash, she had swept the otter up and laid him on a nearby table. "Brother, what happened?" She gasped, trying to keep her voice even.

The otter gritted his teeth and tried to take another wheezing breath. "Abbey's bein' attacked, marm. Some foul beast got me with this 'ere arrer. I don't think it'll…" He suddenly stopped, taking one more gasping breath before his head fell to one side, and his eyes slid shut.

Mathilde touched his arm with a shaking paw. "Be at peace, brother." And then she tore out of the room, roaring so loudly that her voice carried over even the sound of battle. "Guards, to the ramparts! The abbey is under attack! Everybeast get ready!"

More arrows came screaming in over the walls, embedding themselves in the ground like gravestones. Bleary-eyed abbey dwellers scurried to their positions, with far too many not clothed in any armor at all. Mathilde dodged around a fallen mouse who had been struck by a slingstone and was nursing his broken arm.

The abbot stood in the center of the grounds, a look of shocked confusion on his face. Mathilde had to shove him to the side as more arrows came hurtling in. "Father, what are you doing out here?" She yelled, forcing the aging mouse to his feet and towards Cavern Hole. "Get inside and keep everyone safe! I have to help out here!"

Mengrid still seemed bewildered as he closed the doors. "Yes, yes of course. But please be careful, Mathilde. I wouldn't want…"

The badger closed the doors with a mighty push of one arm. "Stay inside and keep everyone there!"

She turned and managed one deep breath before sprinting up the wall steps. The defenders were fighting bravely, but they were no match for the onslaught of arrows and stones being hurled at them. Mathilde tried to help where she could, throwing large rocks from the battlements and shuttling arrows to the few archers that manned their positions.

An arrow struck her in the paw, but she merely snapped the shaft in two and yanked it out. She had already been scratched and wounded in multiple places, but Mathilde was in no mood to stop. She kept up her actions as though there were no immediate danger, and it was simply another errand. That was, until the sounds of screaming from inside the grounds caused her to turn. Dozens of vermin spilled inside like a wave, cutting down anybeast in their path. Mathilde nearly leaped down the steps in her fury, roaring as the adrenaline coursed through her veins like fire.

Slagg, the head-sick weasel under Zalluk's command, snarled and hollered as he led the charge inside the abbey. After only a few minutes of searching, he and his band of two-score vermin had found the side gate. They charged through the door, waving their weapons in anticipation of more bloodletting.

Slagg raised his sword to finish off a wounded squirrel when a look of pained surprise spread across his features. His head lolled forward to look down at the spear protruding from his chest. With a short grunt, the weasel fell and went still.

Mathilde hurled the two spears she was carrying straight into the mass of vermin spilling onto the courtyard. Then she was in their midst, swinging her massive paws like hammers. Ignoring the dozens of spear and sword jabs, she continued with her onslaught until a lucky slingstone managed to strike her head. She fell to the ground unconscious, landing on a few unlucky creatures.

The vermin quickly swept over the defenders, overwhelming them by force of sheer numbers. The remaining survivors fled to cavern hole, holding off the vermin as long as possible to give their comrades time to escape.

Mengrid helped the few remaining guards seal and barricade the massive doors with an oak log. "How many are still out there? Ours, I mean?"

An otter shook his head, panting for breath. "None that I know of, father. Most everybeast took off when those scum breached the side gate."

He nodded. "And how many…how many did we lose?"

The otter ground his teeth. "Far too many, father. I don't have any idea of numbers, but," He took a glance at the creatures milling about in the hall behind them. "Doesn't appear to be many fightin' beasts left 'ere."

Mengrid nodded bitterly. "Tell me, what would you have us do, my friend?"

The otter wiped a paw across his eyes. "Our skipper fell holding off the entrance. He'd know what to do. But all I can say is that we should stay in 'ere as long as possible and 'old those vermin off. We may not last long, father, but it's better than what those blaggards outside would have planned."

The abbot couldn't stop a few tears from escaping his eyes. "But think of all the innocent creatures! They aren't soldiers, they can't fight! Why would those vermin want anything to do with them?"

The otter leaned against the door as a massive thud echoed through the hall. "Batterin' ram, I suppose," he said, muttering to himself. Then he looked at the abbot. "Some creatures is plain evil, father. All we can do is pray fer a miracle."

The morning light was still poking through night's curtain when Tamor found Tazak waiting for him near a tunnel entrance. He bowed respectfully as the ferret nodded. "Are you ready?"

Tamor straightened his cloak. "I am."

The ferret nodded again and waved his paw. "Come, then. We go to the surface."

He spoke as they walked through the glowing tunnel. "Today you will begin learning the ways of woodcraft, of becoming invisible. That cloak you wear is more than a symbol of who you are. It matches the vegetation and foliage perfectly in hue and pattern. If you are standing still, there is almost nobeast alive who could spot you. Moving, you are nothing more than a shadow."

Tamor couldn't stop himself from questioning Tazak. "When will I learn to use a bow?"

The ferret tried to conceal his small grin. "There is far more to being an archer than shooting a bow. Someday soon you will learn, but today is not that day. When the time comes, however, you will gain that skill as well."

They finally reached the end of the tunnel, but this time the entrance was hidden by a fallen log. Tamor squeezed through the tiny space, closing it after he had gotten through.

Tazak spread his paws wide. "Well, how many do you count?"

Tamor was immediately lost. "What?"

The ferret grinned, showing his needle-like teeth. "How many of my archers do you count?"

Tamor spun around, searching the forest around him for any signs. There were none. He turned back to his teacher, trying to hide his confusion. "I think about ten or…Ouch!"

He rubbed the back of his head and looked down. There was an arrow shaft sitting there, the pointed tip replaced with a ball of leaves and grass. But it still left a noticeable bruise.

Tazak chuckled. "Care to change your answer?"

Tamor desperately searched around him for a few more moments before sighing. "I don't know, sir," He said, tensing himself for another strike.

None came as Tazak nodded. "Good. If you do not know something, do not pretend that you do." Looking over his shoulder, the ferret raised a paw.

Six creatures stood, spread out all around them. An otter, just twelve or so paces behind Tamor, raised his bow and tapped it against his forehead in salute. "Sorry mate, didn't mean to get yer noggin! These training arrers don't fly too well!"

Tazak waved his paw again, and the archers disappeared, this time moving to different positions. But all Tamor saw were brief flickers and occasional tufts of fur. And that was well within a stone's throw. He couldn't imagine picking them out at any amount of distance.

"Come," the ferret said, walking along the forest path. Tamor followed, listening intently as the ferret spoke. "Camouflage is more than simple colors and patterns on a cloak. Obviously, it is much harder to see a creature in such a cloak as yours if they are still. Moving is another matter entirely. Steps must be taken slowly, but swiftly. Always stop after each movement and examine your surroundings. When you are sure it is safe, move again and repeat the process. After some training, you will be able to tell when to stop and when to step."

"Now," he said, stopping in the path. "We'll start somewhere simple. I will stand away from you and close my eyes. When I open them again, I expect you to be hidden. Go!"

Tamor haphazardly stumbled into the thick brush, finally settling between two bushes and pulling the cloak tight about himself. A few moments later a shaft came buzzing through the vegetation and thwacking him on the shoulder. Tamor grimaced as Tazak spoke into the morning air. "Between the two bushes, stand up! Remember, you aren't the same shape. So hide behind or near them. You don't always have to be looking at the target, so look down so your hood can cover your fur. Now, let's try that again!"

Tamor moved to another clump of low bushes this time, lying down and throwing the large hood over his head. He lay in wait, tensing himself as the sound of approaching feet neared. He yelped as a small stone bounced off his arm. "Good spot," Tazak said, standing over him. "But the bushes are a bit low. If you had kept your tail down it would have worked. Remember, move as the forest does. If the wind shifts the leaves, move with them. If they are still, don't move until they do. Your tail wasn't exactly staying in place."

Tamor glanced at his tail briefly. It was true; he had a bad habit of swishing it back and forth when he was concentrating or nervous about something.

Tazak turned away. "Alright, try again."

Vermin had already plundered Cavern Hole minutes after breaching the doors. They took everything they could, from cooking pots to candle holders. Wrecked furniture, spilled drink, and other results of looting were scattered across the floor.

Zalluk strode through the mess, a menacing grin revealing his gleaming, blade-like teeth. He stopped against one wall, tapping one of the bear claws on the handle of his skinning dagger. "Was I not clear enough on my orders? What did you think when I said 'no surrender'?"

One of the rats guarding the dozens of prisoners saluted smartly, trying to hide his trembling fear. "Sire, we thought they might…"

His voice was suddenly turned to a choked gargle as the leopard seized his throat in one massive paw, squeezing with immense power. The rat's eyes bulged in his skull as Bloodfang whispered to him, almost like he was counseling a child on some mistake. "You are not here to think, my servant. You are here to follow orders and serve me, your king. For that is what I am now, a king."

His eyes suddenly flashed. Releasing the rat who promptly sucked in breath after wheezing breath and scurried away, Zalluk turned to the prisoners arrayed against the wall and grinned. "And a king needs servants. Yes, servants and slaves to do his bidding. Perhaps my thick-headed captains may have done something right for once."

He glanced over the creatures in front of him. Some were shaking and crying, while others like Mathilde and the otters simply stared with blank hostility and malice. A muscled, tough-looking squirrel leaped to his feet and shouted. "I'll die before I serve scum like you! Reddddwwaaaaalllll!"

His cry was suddenly cut off as a saber tickled his throat. "That can be arranged, tree-mouse," Zalluk said, hissing into his face. "Just keep up your little act here and I'll see to it that you die, so slowly and painfully that you'll be begging for my blade to finish you off. But I'm sure such a hot-blooded creature as you could be used for something useful, like burying all my dead. Guards," he said, throwing the squirrel into the arms of four horde-beasts. "Make sure this loud-mouthed fool gets working immediately. Oh, and make sure he doesn't stop for any meals or water. We can't have such a lively creature slacking in his duties, now can we?"

The four guards sniggered and hauled the unfortunate squirrel away, beating and smacking him with spear butts.

Mathilde growled, straining against the ropes that bound her massive paws tightly. One of the otters leaned over and whispered to her. "Easy, marm. No need to go about givin' these wretches an excuse to lay on the beatings. Don't you worry, someday soon we'll make these vermin wish they had never laid a paw on us!"

Mathilde couldn't help but glance down the row of prisoners huddled against the stone wall. "Wait, where is…where is Tamor, and Joeb, and…oh no." She sank down to her haunches, weeping bitterly. "They've taken them from us, all of them."

The otter managed to pat her shoulder with his bound paws. "Now now, marm. We don't know that they're not here. Just stay calm and…" His voice trailed off as he looked down the row of creatures lined up against the wall. It was true; Joeb and the young mouse weren't there. The otter knew them both from the training they had done in the courtyard. And it seemed like two others were missing as well.

"Seasons help us," he murmured to himself as the prisoners were hauled to their feet and shoved outside.

Tamor had been working with Tazak for a full week on nothing but the art of camouflage. Each day had been harder than the last. From how to move through the thick underbrush to crawling on his belly inches at a time, Tamor gradually moved along in his understanding of the craft. Tazak grew more calculating, more observant of mistakes. Any false movement, even a simple twitch of a whisker, could be reprimanded with a dull arrow or dropped stone.

They also moved further away from Celayna with each passing day. From the thick forests, to tall grasslands, and to swamps. This was where Tamor stood on their seventh day of training, wreathed in foul-smelling mists and almost deafened by the thunderous chirping of millions of insects.

Today was different. Tazak was tracking him, after a one-hour head start. Tamor had stumbled through the marshes, following his instructor's guidance on avoiding footprints and tracks. But it wasn't enough. Soon he could hear Tazak gliding through the stagnant water, closing in.

Tamor stumbled onto a muddy bank and frantically looked for an avenue of escape. He suddenly spotted a murky hole a few steps down the beach, more mud than water. But the hollow reeds growing around it caught his attention. With a look of disgust, he headed towards the bog.

Tazak had found his student's path without much difficulty. He had failed to remember traipsing through a dusty field some ways back, and the red-colored dust was easy to follow in the dark waters. He followed the cloudy mist, smiling to himself. _He has spirit, _he thought, _I will give him that much._

Suddenly, the tracks stopped at the edge of a muddy pit. At first, he was worried that Tamor might have fallen in. But the fears were quickly dispelled when he found what looked like more tracks just up the bank, cutting away. But those too soon stopped, leaving naught a trace.

Tazak actually scratched his head in confusion. He stared at the tracks, trying to find where the young mouse went.

Tamor was hardly able to hear Tazak coming through the sludge surrounding him. The marsh was just deep enough to conceal him if he sat on his knees, but shallow enough for him to keep a reed poking through the mud. He could hear Tazak moving away, and made his move.

The ferret had just knelt to examine the pawsteps in the muck more closely when something sharp bounced off his shoulder. He spun around, drawing his sword.

At first, the ferret could hardly tell there was a creature standing in the marsh. But then his keen eyes noticed the odd shape protruding from the ground. He stared as the figure lowered the mud-soaked reed from its mouth and wiped a grimy paw across his eyes. Tamor spat out some more of the foul-tasting mire and waved the reed.

Tamor almost shriveled when he saw the look of fury on Tazak's face. He braced himself for a thorough tongue-lashing. So when the sounds of slow laughter reached his ears, he was unsure of what to expect. He opened his eyes, still hesitant.

Tazak was grinning, but this time it was genuine, friendly smile. He started chuckling, and then laughing, and finally howling with uncontrollable mirth. Clutching his belly, he fell to a knee and pounded the dirt with one paw until he was able to look up. With tears of laughter in his eye, he managed to stand. "Young mouse," he said, finally catching his breath. "Never in my days have I ever seen a creature with such a determination. And the stone through the reed, absolutely amazing!" He wiped a paw across his eyes and nodded contentedly. "I believe you are ready, Tamor."

Tamor was busy wiping muck from around his mouth and nose. "For what?"

Tazak straightened and clasped Tamor's paw in his own, ignoring the mud still clinging to it. "You are ready to become an archer. Tomorrow, we start working."

Tamor was still somewhat frazzled, possibly from being buried in pond-mud. "Working? Isn't that what we've been doing?"

Tazak's smile didn't lessen, but drifted into one of pride and understanding. "Yes, but tomorrow we will make you a bow, a true weapon. I will teach you all you need to know. Now," he said, planting a paw on Tamor's shoulder. "We should be getting back to the caverns. You need to clean up."

Dawn came crisp and warm, cutting through the previous day's haze in a brilliant flash of gold between the trees. The two mice crept through the forest silently like wraiths, Tamor enjoying his new-found skill. He and Tazak stopped near the crest of a grass-coated hill, staring at the forest around them.

Tazak placed his paw on Tamor's shoulder, like a father would with his son. "Remember, Tamor, this is something you must feel. The trees are like us. Each one is different, and each one has a story to tell. You must find the one that includes you in that tale."

Tamor swept his eyes over the banks of trees surrounding them. Beech, oak, ash, countless species and sizes of the towering monsters rose around them. They each seemed to call with their own yearning and trust, swaying in the breezes that coursed through the mountains. For a moment, the only sound was of the creaking boughs and trunks, calling to the beasts resting in their shadows.

Suddenly, Tamor stopped, mouth moving silently. He raised a paw, pointing to the east. "There, on that rocky cliff."

Tazak followed his student's paw. Almost a mile away a rocky, snow-covered cliff jutted out from the side of a barren mountain. And pointing straight up from that cliff was one distinct tree, rising far above the few others that managed to maintain their roots in the snow and rock. The rich, emerald boughs were sharp and distinct, staying strong against the winds that howled against the face.

Tazak lowered his eyes to look at the young mouse, who was transfixed by the sight. "You are not the first to desire that tree, young one. I have lost count of how many students have spotted that wonder and attempted to reach it. The path is difficult, and the climb up those cliffs has taken more lives than I care to remember."

Tamor was unshakeable as he stared at the cliffs. "That's the one, I know it. Nothing is going to stop me, nothing."

Tazak sighed and nodded. "Very well. We had best get moving, then."

The two began to trudge down the hill and into the thick pines that coated the valley, leading to the cliffs. The forest grew so thick that the two could only move feet a time, constantly having to bypass large clumps of thorns, ravines hidden in the brush, or fallen trees concealed by creeping moss. Tamor stopped caring when a branch would smack him in the face or he would get caught in the snare of a thorn bush.

The sun was at its peak by the time the two emerged from one last stand of trees and stood at the base of the cliffs. The jutting rock shot up in front of them, seeming to reach into the clouds above. Sharp, jagged rock covered the entire wall, along with veins of fresh white snow resting on the craggy surface. Huge cracks ran up and down the massive expanse, from years of exposure to the harsh wind and biting snow. Tamor couldn't help but shiver slightly, partly from the cold but mostly from the nerve-shaking fear that gripped him.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his paws. "No turning back," he whispered to himself. "No turning back. I have to do this."

Tazak tightened the straps on the small pack he had elected to take. "Use your footpaws," he said, taking the first pawhold he could find on the great cliff face. "Hoist yourself up one step at a time; don't move anymore than you absolutely have to."

Tamor nodded and placed a paw in a small crack just big enough to place his finger into. Hoisting himself up, he began to climb.

The sharp rock soon began to bite into his paws and numb them with pain. Only a few minutes in, Tamor was already wincing with each movement. He did not fail to notice the trickle of blood that ran from his paws every time they bit into a purchase. As time ground painfully on, Tamor felt a gust of wind shake him. _It's as if the very cliffs want us to die! _He thought to himself. _It's like they know we're here!_

They continued on for what felt like days, even though only a few hours had elapsed. The only other movement they made besides pushing themselves up the cliff face was to search for new pawholds.

After nearly losing his grip on a slippery crack in the rock, Tamor glanced at the ferret next to him. The question in his eyes was clear enough.

Tamor yelled over the wind biting into their already battered bodies. "I'm not giving up!" He roared, gritting his teeth and finding another place to sink his fingers into. "I'm not going to stop!"

He pushed himself on with the last dregs of energy left in his body. He found himself moving with rage-like fury, actually angry at the mountain for what it was doing. _This will not beat me! _He yelled inside his head. _This will not kill me!_

He gave one final roar, tearing up the cliffside. Suddenly, his paw touched snow. His eyes opened, and found himself staring at the tree he had so longed for.

With one final surge of energy, he hauled himself over the top and rushed towards the trunk, drawing his dagger. As his feet finally gave out, he buried the blade into the wood with a thud. Heaving in breath after breath and feeling the warm trickle of blood on his paws, he smiled and shut his eyes. "I did it." And then unconsciousness took him in its blanket of darkness.

The sound of a crackling fire and rasping of steel on wood met Tamor's ears as he awoke. He tried to sit up, and immediately wished he hadn't. Wincing through the pain, he took stock of his situation. His hands were covered in some sort of cloth, and he was warm despite the coldness resting on his cheeks. And then he remembered the climb.

This time he was able to slowly sit up, wincing as white-hot rods of steel seemed to touch his legs. Finally, he was able to get to his knees and turn around. Tazak was near the fire, working a long plank of ash-colored wood with a rasp. Tamor couldn't help but notice the huge pile of shavings amassed nearby in the snow. The ferret looked up briefly from his work and stood. "Ah, you're awake. Good, I feared those injuries might be worse than they appeared."

Tamor was able to stand, albeit slowly and wincing the entire time. Limping over to the ferret, he looked at the plank and then up at the tree. "Where did you get that? I don't see any part of the tree missing."

Tazak wiped his paws in the snow and pointed to the top. "From there. I cut just enough off the top to get into the heartwood, and then took the section I wanted from that. This tree still has many years of life left, I can tell."

Tamor ran a paw over the gray-hued wood. There were no knots, no imperfections in the stave. He allowed himself a small smile. "It's a fine piece of wood, but how do I…" The rasping knife suddenly plopped itself in his paws. Tazak gestured to the wooden stave. "Go on, I'll guide you along the way."

He hesitantly set himself behind the stave set in an improvised stand and followed the ferret's instructions, drawing the knife back with just enough pressure to lift a thin sheet of wood with each stroke. Tamor could immediately tell that the wood was different. It seemed to respond to each stroke of the knife, bucking and twisting when Tamor angled the blade wrong or pulled with too much force.

Small beads of sweat dripped onto the wood as Tamor worked, listening to Tazak's guidance. As the sun was beginning to set, the ferret called for him to stop. Tamor stood back and wiped a paw across his brow. While it was still just a rough shape, the distinctive outline of a bow was unmistakable. The straight board had been filed down on both sides and top, until each axis came down to a rough triangle.

The ferret produced a long, thick string and small file as he sat near the fire, using the massive pile of shavings to keep it going along with loose branches he had found. "Tomorrow we will begin tillering. This is all you'll need, along with the rasp."

Tamor rolled the string around a paw and slipped it into his pocket. "What's tillering?"

The ferret stirred the contents inside a small pot he had placed over the fire. "To tiller a bow is to give the wood memory, to stretch it enough so the wood will not snap on the first shot. It also reveals any imperfections in the wood which you may have caused during the initial process."

Tamor tilted his head. "And how is it done?"

The ferret began filling their bowls with vegetable stew. "Normally, I would use a special stand that is notched every inch or so. The bow remains in place while the string is pulled and tightened, until it is at the proper strength. But since we do not have such a device, we will have to make do with our feet and backs."

Tamor groaned, rubbing his footpaws mournfully. "I have a feeling this won't be as easy as the rasping."

Tazak smiled. "You are right, young mouse."

Dawn came cold but bright as Tamor began the next step. He tied two knots to each end of the string and slipped them into notches cut into the ends of the bow. Then he placed the string under his footpaws, grabbed the center of the bow, and started pulling.

Tazak stood nearby, occasionally checking each side to make sure they bent evenly. If he spotted any imperfection, they would stop and shave more wood off one side or the other.

By the time they stopped for lunch, Tamor's back and paws were aching. He winced as they sat down, trying to sooth his burning fingers. "I was right, that isn't any fun at all."

The ferret chuckled. "That is the truth. After you make as many as I have, though, it becomes natural. Perhaps one day you could take up the craft for your abbey."

Tamor cast his eyes down. "I hope they're doing alright. We left them just when the needed us they most. If we're too late, I'll never forgive myself."

Tazak, for the first time since Tamor had laid eyes on him, seemed at a loss for words. All he could do was shuffle a bit and take another bite of the thick bread.

After a while of eating, they continued on their work. The burn in Tamor's back and paws was near incapacitating, but he kept going. Pulling the bow up, drops of his sweat fell onto the wood and disappeared into the grain. Soon it was like he was in a trance, unaware of anything but the constant heaving and twinges of pain wracking his body.

The setting sun was just beginning to turn the snow pearlescent when Tazak called for him to halt. Tamor collapsed on the snow, heaving in breath after breath as lances of fire traced up his back. Tazak took the stave and examined it carefully. He retrieved a linen string from one pocket and knotted both ends, slipping them over one end of the bow.

Tamor managed to clamor to his knees to watch. Tazak set one of the loops in a nock cut into one end of the stave, securing it tightly. Then he placed one end of the bow against a footpaw and stepped over it with the other, bending the wood over his leg. With a fluid motion, he brought the remaining end of the string over and slipped it into the other notch. Sliding the bow out from under him, he tossed it to Tamor. "It is done."

As Tamor ran his paws over the now completed bow, the wood seemed to come alive in his hands. The string hummed when he touched it, yearning for its cause. The wood bent fluidly on each side, in perfect unison.

Something landed in his lap. A strip of unidentifiable leather and a small bottle of heated pine resin. Tamor held the leather up, hesitant of its origins.

Tazak must have sensed his discomfort. "It came from a shark, washed up on the eastern shores some years ago. You have no cause for alarm."

Tamor nodded, looking at the pine resin. "What is it for?"

"The handle. Wrap it so the wood won't splinter and strain your paws."

After a few minutes of trying, Tamor finally wrapped the handle well enough to secure it with the glue. He inspected the dark-brown hued grip with a twinkle of desire in his eye.

An arrow clattered to the ground in front of him. Tamor picked up the shaft, looking up at Tazak, who nodded once. "Make your shot, archer."

Pride surged through his veins as he set the shaft on the string, running his fingers through the crow-feather fletchings. The sharp steel point glistened in the snow-tinted light, begging to be released. Without a second thought, Tamor took a breath and drew the bow in a motion as fluid as water running through a stream. He sighted his target, a tree almost three hundred paces away. Allowing himself a small grin, he let the string roll off his fingers and snap against his arm.

The shaft screamed through the cold mountain air, cleaving through space like an eagle diving on its prey. In the blink of an eye, the shaft had impaled itself into the thick evergreen with a loud _thock! _The arrow stood quivering in the trunk, buried halfway up its length.

Tamor lowered the bow slowly, mouth agape. He felt Tazak's paw settle on his shoulder. "Your father would be proud of you, Tamor."

The young mouse looked to the west, over the tops of the trees and the mountains. "I'm coming for you, Bloodfang! And nothing is going to stop me!"


	6. Chapter 6 Fallen

Hey everyone, new part! Sorry for the delay, but lots of stuff has come up lately and my writing time has suffered quite a bit. Also, Gmail decided to crap out for a few days and didn't send me updates on review/subscriptions. Sorry if I haven't gotten around to that yet, but rest assured I HAVE read them.

So, without further adeu, here's the next chapter! And as always, R&R!

* * *

The two wandered back into the forest around Celayna, greeted by the levirath archers. They all saluted with their bows, tapping their chests with it. Tamor returned the gesture, still finding it hard to accept his new position. A fox materialized from the shadows, holding something in a wrapped cloth. He held it out to Tamor. "The rest of us thought you may find these useful someday."

Tamor undid the cloth and smiled. It was a full quiver of arrows, each made from a solid piece of beechwood. All thirty of them were fletched with either magpie or hawk feathers, gathered from nests around the mountains. Half of the shafts were crowned in a razor-sharp broadhead, half a finger long. The remaining heads were a long, thinner metal tip, almost like an oversized needle. Tamor looked at the fox quizzically.

"For armor," he said, fingering one of his own. "'Twill punch through any normal coverings and then some."

Tamor clasped the fox's paw, looking him in the eyes. "Thank you, friend. I cannot thank all of you enough, for everything. It makes me sad that I have to leave tomorrow."

Tazak nodded. "And it saddens us to see you leave, Tamor, son of Tarfor. But we all have our duties, and yours is at the abbey of Redwall. Come now, we will celebrate, and I have something to give you tonight. But that is for later."

They all slipped into any number of secret entrances, following them to the caverns. After a number of good-byes, Tamor followed the winding staircase to the bottom of the cave. Night was just beginning to fall and the smell of cooking food was enough to cause Tamor's stomach to rumble.

He managed to find Grace and the others without too much difficulty. The two younger mice nearly tackled him in their excitement. Joeb stood back, smiling. When he managed to get up, Tamor began to relate his story to his friends. They sat and listened intently, actually leaning forward when he told of the cliffs.

When he had finished, Joeb nodded at the sheath and quiver resting on his back. "So, that's the bow?"

Tamor proudly displayed the weapon, handing it to Joeb. The old mouse took it and examined it carefully, not noticing when his eyes widened slightly. "Tamor, this wood is…I've never seen it. Was this from the tree on the cliffs?"

Tamor took the weapon back from his outstretched paw. "Yes, it was. Why do you ask?"

Joeb stared at the bow. "It is called scalewood. Some claim that it is as strong as dragon scales, and yet flexible enough to make a good bow. But everybeast says that it has long since gone, died out."

Tamor shrugged. "Evidently it's still alive enough."

Grace stirred the coals distractedly. "When do we plan on leaving?"

"Tomorrow," He said. "Tazak said he had something for me, but it wouldn't be ready until tonight."

Raylim was sharpening his axe, the stone making a grating sound as it slid over the metal. "What do you suppose it is?"

"I'm not sure," he said, staring longingly at the soup pot. "But I'd like to suppose it's a fresh loaf of bread if you lazybones aren't going to make some food anytime soon."

Laughing, the troupe set about making supper. While the stew was cooking over a freshly kindled fire, Joeb reached across and drew one of the arrows. "Interesting design," he thought aloud. "For armor, I surmise?"

Tamor nodded. "Yes. It would work just as well in Bloodfang's heart, though."

Joeb's eyes seemed to flicker. "You suddenly seem to be very eager to kill another creature, Tamor. Might I remind you of what I told you, when you nearly hit Raylim? A true warrior never seeks revenge, only justice."

Tamor sheathed the arrow forcefully and stared into the coals. "That's what I aim to do, Joeb. Zalluk killed my father, and I intend to bring him to justice in any way I see fit."

Before Joeb could respond, Tazak materialized out of the darkness. "Tamor," he said, motioning for him to stand. "I have something for you. Something your father would have wanted you to have."

With a flourish, he produced two identical swords from underneath his cloak. The weapons were beautifully simple yet elegant, and clearly made with a singular purpose: to take the life of another beast. The smooth, finely checkered handles were made of a deep red mahogany, which seemed to gleam on its own accord in the firelight. The matching sheaths were constructed of the same shark leather that bound Tamor's bow handle.

"Take up your arms, warrior." Tazak said, placing the weapons in Tamor's slightly shaking paws. He drew the shimmering blade in a flash, astonished at the lightness and ease at which he could wield them. The blades were slightly curved, leading to a needle-like gutting tip. The steel was dark silver, but seemed to absorb every ray of light about and cast it like diamond.

Tamor looked up and into the eyes of his teacher, who simply nodded in wordless reply. After some adjusting, he crossed the blades over his back like he had seen in the tapestry, like his father had done. The handles were easily reachable but not obstructive in his movements. And the blades were so light that running or moving through the forest was just as simple as before.

"Take these swords, Tamor," the ferret said, placing a paw over his own heart. "And complete the task given to you. Protect the weak and those unable to help themselves. Never cause undue suffering and pain, and never forget those who have gone before you. I leave you with my blessing, and that of your father's."

Tamor thumped his chest with a paw. "I will do as you say, and carry out what my father could not."

Tazak smiled, not failing to notice a tear that traced down his cheek. "Then go as you will. I wish you good luck, and good times."

And with that, he vanished into the cavernous night.

The next morning, light streamed through the cave's many natural windows, glittering as dust danced in the light breeze. Most of the camp was still quiet as Tamor and his friends finished packing, strapping on the last of their gear and checking for any forgotten items. When they were satisfied, the four friends began making their way out of the caverns.

Tazak had given them a dozen creatures to take along, just as far as the edge of the mountains. They flashed between trees, just outside of Tamor's vision. Looking up at Joeb pleadingly, the older mouse smiled. "Go on, I'll take your pack for a little while."

Grinning like a dibbun on feast day, Tamor shrugged off his haversack and dashed into the woods, flitting and dashing between trees. His skills had only grown in his time with Tazak, and had reached those of his other students. Soon, it became a match of how close they could get to each other without being spotted.

But the jovial air soon came to an end as the group reached the rock-covered slopes of the mountains, where the calls of panthers could be heard in the distance. One of the levirath actually laughed at their apprehension. "Don't worry about them; those savages won't be back here for a while after seeing their mate getting killed. Cowardly bunch, if you ask me."

Confident in their safety, the march pressed on. It was just as Tamor remembered: Cold biting at any exposed flesh, wind whipping across their faces like whips, and sharp jagged rocks tearing at the bottoms of their paws. But they pressed on just as before, trying to think of anything but the seemingly endless cold and wind.

It felt to Tamor like his paws were going to fall off when a tiny rib of green appeared over the horizon. Squinting, he pointed to the small band of color. "Joeb, is that what I think it is?"

The older mouse patted his young charge on the shoulder as he passed. "Aye, young 'un, it is. Mossflower woods, dead ahead!"

Tamor felt a surge of relief flood through his body. They were less than a mile from the forest, and then home! He began charging ahead with Grace and Raylim; until he noticed that the levirath archers had stopped, conversing with Joeb. Turning back, he ran into Joeb as he was turning away from the others. "What's wrong?" Tamor asked.

Joeb pulled his cloak tighter around his frame and trudged on, speaking as they went. "The levirath say they can't go into the woods; that it isn't their territory. We'll have to press on ourselves."

Tamor walked alongside, trying not to raise his voice for fear of the others hearing. "That shouldn't be a problem, should it? We went through there not long ago and nothing happened."

"That's true," Joeb said, stepping over the first clump of dirt they had seen for miles. "But I have this...feeling. Something isn't right. Maybe I'm just being old and paranoid, but I just can't shake it."

Tamor knew better than to prod the old mouse for more answers. He left Joeb by himself, dropping back to converse with his friends. Grace and Raylim were breathing heavily, but their faces lit up when Tamor pointed out the tree line ahead. Raylim hefted his axe over one shoulder and wiped a line of sweat from his brow. "Mossflower, here we come! I can't wait to see the abbey again, and all it's wonderful food. Raspberry scones, butternut biscuits with strawberry jam, turnip pie..."

Grace and Tamor simultaneously clamped their paws around his snout, halting any further antagonizing images of food. After a few mumbled apologies they let him go, and continued on. The rock was slowly turning to soil and leaves again, with a few sparse trees even standing here and there like lone guardians. By the time daylight was beginning to fade, they were already deep into the forest and breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of pine and fresh earth.

They picked a spot to camp for the night; a large clump of dry grass situated on the edges of a thick band of trees. The spot was slightly elevated above the forest, giving them not only a pleasant view but a chance to spot any likely trouble headed their way. Joeb seemed to be more attentive than usual, Tamor noticed. The gray-furred mouse seemed to be stopping every few moments, sniffing the air and glancing carefully at the forest around them. After they had started a fire and constructed their tent, Joeb stood and hefted his walking stick. "I'll be back in a little while," he said. "I'm going to check around for water, maybe find some berries while I'm at it."

Grace and Raylim seemed to accept his answer as he stole away, hardly making a sound as he vanished into the thick underbrush. Grace noticed Tamor's worried look. "Tamor," she said while starting the pot of soup. "What's wrong?"

Tamor held up one of Joeb's canteens. "He only took one, and that was already full. Something's wrong, or Joeb wouldn't have gone off like that. We need to follow him."

Raylim raised a paw. "Are you sure about that? Maybe he's just checking the area, making sure it's safe."

Tamor shook his head. "No, he already scouted ahead before we got here. He knows there's something here besides us."

Sighing, Raylim stirred the pot plaintively. "Well, I suppose I'd best watch the soup then. No use having it go waste while we're traipsing about in the woods."

"Thank you. Grace, do you want to come with?"

She was already gathering her canteen and small bag. "Of course I am. I'm not letting you go somewhere by yourself."

Raylim couldn't resist a small chuckle. "Such commitment. I suppose I'll be the ring-bearer, when the time comes?"

He didn't manage to duck the pine cone Grace tossed at his head. Ignoring the murmured comments he made while rubbing his head, she looked at Tamor. "Well, then. I suppose we should get moving if we want to find that old codger before nightfall."

The duo moved off into the already darkening woods, dark golden sunlight filtering between branches and onto the ground. They both moved quietly, but Tamor much more so than his friend. Grace was stunned at the ease with which he seemed to melt into the surroundings, like he was part of the trees and the earth itself.

Suddenly, Tamor stopped. Holding up a paw for silence, he listened for a moment before turning to her with a face like that of a ghost's. "There's fighting, up ahead! Sounds like an entire army!"

Grace drew one of her daggers. "Then there's no time to waste. Come on, Tamor!"

Running as quickly as their travel-wearied legs could muster, they tore through the small forest path. Ignoring the snapping twigs and crunching leaves, Tamor silently prayed for Joeb to be alright. _Maybe it's another beast, _he thought. _After all, Joeb would never let himself get caught by surprise at this time of..._

The path suddenly ended, leading onto a large plain of open grass. It sloped gently for a little while, and then dropped off steeply on the reverse incline. In normal circumstances, this little meadow would have been perfect for a summer picnic. But now...

At least a dozen vermin were arrayed in a semi-circle, brandishing and attacking with an array of vicious weaponry and snarling like monsters. Somebeast was in front of them, fending off numerous sword swings and spear thrusts. Cackling and shouting, the vermin pressed their attack. The solitary beast was now at the crest of the small hill, with a sheer drop behind them.

Without thinking, Tamor notched an arrow to his bow and drew with such practiced ease that he could tell where the shaft would go, without even looking down it's length. Aiming for the leg of a rat wielding a large pike, he let fly with a _twang!_

The rat screeched and dropped his pike as the shaft punched through his leg. Trying to stay on his paws and failing, the vermin went to the ground and wailed. Only a few of his comrades seemed to notice and turned, noticing Tamor for the first time. One ferret snarled, hefting his spear to throw it the thirty or so paces between them. "Look 'ere, more of 'em!"

He got not further, as the next arrow shattered his snout and buried itself in his face. Gurgling, he went to his knees and tried to staunch the bleeding. Before any of the other vermin could start to run towards them screaming curses and murder, two more of their ranks went down with arrow wounds. But Tamor knew, as he loosed one more shaft, that soon they would be upon the two. As the eight remaining rats, weasels, and ferrets began closing the distance, Tamor sheathed his bow and drew the two short swords, the silver steel flashing in the evening sunlight. Deftly spinning and twirling them in his paws, he settled into a low fighting stance. Grace already had two throwing daggers drawn, one ready for flight and the other gripped for the inevitable close combat.

Tamor caught a lopsided cutlass chop with one blade as the other swung, shortly followed by the weasel's wailing cry. Ignoring the blood already dripping from the blade, Tamor began to feel the surge of battle running through his veins like fire. Time seemed to have slowed, giving him ample time to react each time a sword came crashing down overhead or block a spear thrust. His movements felt as though he was made of fluid lightning, graceful and deadly. Every movement was coming from deep inside him, like it had been there all along. With the scent of war thick in his nostrils and bloodlust fogging his vision, Tamor became one with the slaughter.

Leaping out of the way as a rat brought his hatchet down, Tamor thrust his swords into the vermin's body. Collapsing with a rattling groan, the rat stopped moving. Panting as if the very air had been robbed from his lungs, Tamor stood over his victim and started to blink away the red and white dots flashing at the edges of his vision. Suddenly, the realization hit him. _I killed these creatures, _he thought, as every fiber of his being suddenly went numb in horror. _I killed them all. What have I done?_

The tears were just about to spring up in his eyes when Grace's voice echoed out behind him, shaking with sobs. "Tamor, come quickly! It's Joeb, he's hurt!"

The young mouse seemed to forget everything else in a split second, turning and rushing to the figure lying on the blood-stained grass. Tamor stopped a few feet short, the swords falling from his grip in shock. Eyes wide, he stared at Joeb as horror ran through his veins like ice.

"No." The word escaped his lips as Tamor fell onto his knees, crawling to the side of the old mouse. He was breathing heavily, a small trickle of blood leaking from one corner of his mouth. As his eyes began to flicker open, Tamor grasped his paw as though he would never let go. "Joeb, no, please don't..."

Joeb managed to silence him, placing a finger over his trembling lips. "Tamor," he said, whispering through the pain and dreary haze clouding his eyes. "I knew it was you. I knew you would find me."

Tamor was sobbing now, trying to talk through the tears streaming down his face. "Yes, we did. Just hold on, Joeb. We'll get you some help and..."

Once again, he was shushed as Joeb struggled to speak. "Both of you knew I could never die of age or sickness, it is not my nature. I love the abbey, but it is not where I could have gone to my final resting days. This," he said, managing to gesture to the battle-strewn field. "Is where I was destined to fall. Now, Tamor," he coughed, not bothering to wipe away the spot of blood on his lips. "You must listen. Today, you not only proved your bravery and courage in battle, but your love as well. Not many creatures would have done what you did. And although you killed, it was not for an unjust cause. Be at peace, Tamor, as I soon shall be."

Burying his head into Joeb's chest, Tamor could hardly speak through the sobs wracking his body. "Joeb, I'm so sorry. I should have done this. If we had never gone..."

He felt a paw on his own. "Now, Tamor, you know that would not be true." Joeb's voice was hardly a whisper. "It was your fate, and this is mine. Mourn if you must, but do not forget the pledge you and your father made."

Tamor forced himself to nod. "I will, Joeb. I promise."

The old mouse smiled weakly. "Then I can rest in peace. And I will tell your father that he has good reason to be proud of you, his son."

And with that, Joeb's eyes closed forever.


	7. Chapter 7 All shall fade

Hey everyone! I finally got around to updating! Sorry I haven't been focusing on this one much, but things have been pretty hectic. Anyway, enough of the blathering and onto the story!

Oh, forewarning: The end of this chapter gets pretty cliche, I'll just tell you now. But as I heard someone say: "If it weren't for cliches, no one would know how to act." So HAH! Take that, critics. Just kidding. Anyway, enjoy, and R&R!

* * *

Dawn was just breaking over the treetops as they laid Joeb to his final rest. They had decided on the hilltop, overlooking the grasslands and forest. The early morning rays were sparkling in the dew-laden morning, glinting like jewels in the air. Grace, Raylim, and Tamor stood in front of the grave marked with a stone and wreath of morning glory petals. Raylim had found them the night before, still sobbing and clutching their honored friend. They had all vowed to stay until dawn, when they were sure that the spot would match their companion's honor.

Tamor had carved into the gravestone what they all felt was a fitting epitaph.

_Though the seasons have called me home,_

_And morning may not grace my eyes,_

_I no longer wander and no longer roam,_

_For in the warrior true honor never dies._

_Joeb, a true friend and brave warrior. Sleep me now, forever not._

The granite would forever hold their final goodbye until the winds of time stopped, Raylim had said. As they made ready to leave, Tamor knelt and placed Joeb's staff over the grave after clutching it to his chest, in one last warrior's salute.

Standing on his weak legs, Tamor turned to red-eyed and grief stricken friends. Grace wiped one last tear away from her eye and looked to the west. "What do we do now? How will Redwall ever be the same without him?"

Tamor found his voice, surprising even himself with the assuredness in the tone "Joeb told me to stay loyal to my pledge, and that is what I intend to do. As he said, we may mourn later, but now is not that time. Our first loyalty belongs to Redwall. After we have driven Bloodfang from the land and made sure he will never return, we can grieve for our lost friend."

Nodding solemnly, the friends looked at the grave one last time before making preparations to depart. Tamor had cleaned his swords last night and recovered as many arrows as possible, sickened by the task. The sight of so much blood and death had unnerved him, and he knew it would be a long time before he would forget them.

As he was checking his pack one last time, Raylim called him over. He found his axe-wielding friend hunched over a small book filled with scratchy and scribbled writing. "What is it?" He asked, somewhat irritated. "We have to get going."

But as Raylim looked up, he knew something was wrong. "Tamor," he said, holding the small book up with a shaking paw. "Read."

Tamor scanned over the first page briefly and then stopped, actually dropping the leather-bound journal. "No, it can't be." He said, trying not to think about what he had just read. "They can't have. The entire abbey..."

Grace noticed the two of them. "What's wrong?" She asked. Before she got an answer, Raylim and Tamor were sprinting into the woods. "They've taken the abbey!" Tamor screamed, motioning for her to follow. "They've taken everybody captive!"

Sprinting like birds flitting through the trees, the friends moved so quickly that they hardly noticed the slapping, biting tree branches catching and tearing at their clothes. Their footpaws were pounding against the earth with such force that fallen leaves actually trembled each time they stepped.

By the time they reached the edges of the forest, the sun was already beginning to rise into the blue sky. Panting and trying to ignore their bleeding footpaws, the trio halted on the side of a nearby hill. Lying in the cover of a large bush, they watched as beasts moved in and out of the abbey. The sounds of shouting and cracking whips were easy to hear on the morning breeze. Tamor pounded his fist into the dirt and hissed. "Those scum! Those evil, barbaric, vermin scum! I'm going to kill every single one of them!"

Raylim quieted him with a harsh look. "Silence, Tamor! We won't be much use to anybeast if we get caught because of your yelling. And besides, there's an entire army in there! How do you expect to fight that? No, we have to think of another way."

Tamor continued to stare spitefully at the abbey below, glaring at the wall guards and gate keepers, all vermin. "They've enslaved the entire abbey, Raylim! I'm not going to let them do this, not while I still draw breath. Whatever it takes, I'm going to..."

"Fine, but at least take a moment to think about this!" Raylim managed to get his attention by cuffing him on the ear sharply. "If we go charging in there like soldiers, we'll be turned to pincushions before we reach the main gate. We need something more subtle, more precise. Let's just take a moment to stop and think."

After nearly ten minutes, Tamor angrily tore a chunk of bark from a nearby tree trunk and threw it. "We can't just sit here doing nothing, we have to..."

"The leopard."

Raylim and Tamor looked at Grace quizzically. Her face was lit up with the obvious signs of a brilliant idea. "What?" Raylim asked, as though questioning her sanity.

Grace stood, frantically waving her paws. "Remember what Tazak told you? That Bloodfang swept the entire mountain range almost by himself? There isn't any way he could have gotten that far by using subordinate generals. He must lead the army by himself. If we can somehow get him to surrender or put him out of action, the rest of his forces have no reason to continue holding the abbey. And if Raylim and I went to free some of the abbeybeasts to help, Tamor can get Bloodfang to agree to our terms. Once he sees that we've freed some of the more capable fighting beasts, he'll have no other option than to surrender."

Rubbing his chin, Raylim stared into space. "It's a gamble, but it seems to be the only viable option as of now. I can't think of anything else. A flat-out assault is out of question, and Grace is right: The only real commander of that army seems to be Bloodfang. If he's out of the equation-"

Tamor finished the sentence. "Then the army will have nobeast to follow, nobeast to give them orders. Like Raylim said, I think it's our best bet. We can go tonight. Here's what I had in mind..."

Night had fallen just an hour before when the three moved out, brighter shades of fur coated in dust and dirt to conceal themselves. Raylim had also coated his axe head in dirt to avoid having the crisp steel attract any unwanted attention.

They had observed the abbey all day, monitoring guard routines and positions. It seemed that most of the vermin outside were either stationed on the wall, outside the front gate, or occasionally roaming aimlessly inside the grounds. But the latter was very spotty, and Tamor assumed it would die down after the sun went down. He had been right. There were only three guards on each wall, two at the front gate, and one outside Cavern Hole. It made it easier considering they were all bearing torches which gave away their position quite well.

Tamor knew exactly where he was going. Skirting down the side of the hill and into another band of trees, he made for the wall where he had once made his escape; the one where the mole tunnel was burrowed. If it was still there, he had a clean shot into the abbey grounds. And even if it had been filled in or collapsed, he could always sneak in a side gate.

But if that didn't work, then the whole plan was for naught.

Moving like a wraith, he quickly located the mole tunnel some distance away from the outer wall. Slipping into the burrow, Tamor suddenly realized that he couldn't see the end of it! Since there was no light from the sun, he had no idea if the tunnel was clear or not.

Fighting back the fear building up inside his chest, Tamor forced himself to breathe and think. If it was collapsed, he could always turn back and find another route. But that would mean the entire tunnel had been weakened, and would most likely collapse on him at the slightest disturbance. The thought of being buried alive horrified Tamor, and he had to push the dread back down into his belly. If he didn't use the tunnel, he risked being spotted going through a side gate.

Taking one last breath of fresh air, he plunged himself into the darkness. Closing his eyes, he forced each paw out in front of him until he had a slow, but steady pace going. Every time he touched a small lump of soil or rock, he was sure it was part of a cave-in and the tunnel was about to collapse. But as his lungs started to burn and beg for air, nothing happened. Sprint-crawling what he realized was the last few feet; he popped up from the hole and gasped for air.

Spinning around like a top, he checked the immediate area for danger. None seemed to be present, so he slipped out of the entrance and crouched in the nearby shadow of an elm tree, trying to decide what course of action to take next. But before a rational thought could cross his mind, the sound of paws stomping on the grass sent a jolt through his body like a bolt of lightning.

Sinking deeper into the tree's shadow, he searched frantically for the sound. He found it, noticing a ferret walking through the middle of the path dressed in half a set of armor and yawning loudly. He held a torch, walking towards the dormitories. On his current path, the vermin would walk right in front of the elm.

Tamor's fear suddenly turned to realization. This was his chance to find out where Bloodfang was! Flexing his paws, he prepared himself for what was coming next.

The ferret guard was not only tired, but annoyed. One of his fellow soldiers had awoken him from a lovely dream, just so he could do the nightly check of the slaves chained together in what used to be Cavern Hole. After donning only part of his uniform, the guard stumbled outside, whispering complaints and trying to stay awake.

He was jolted to full wakefulness when a paw suddenly closed over his snout and neck, knocking the torch from his hand. As the grip tightened, the ferret's widened eyes saw purple and gray haze starting to creep in on the edges of his vision.

His feet were knocked out from under him as the attacker dragged him behind a tree, pinning him on his stomach so he couldn't yell. The ferret whimpered in pain and terror, which earned him nothing more than a slap on the back of the head.

"Stay quiet, scum, or you'll have more to whimper about than a sore nose." The voice hissed like a serpent and was as cold as ice. A chill ran up the guard's spine; this creature meant business.

"Now," the voice said, pressing what felt dangerously close to a dagger to the ferret's neck. "You are going to answer me truthfully and completely, or you will find out just how sharp I keep this blade. Now, how many guards are awake right now?"

The guard felt his attacker relax his grip slightly, allowing him to breathe. "Sixteen," he gasped. "Just sixteen. They on the walls and the gate and Cavern hole, and one guardin' Bloodfang's chamber."

"Very good. Now, where exactly is that slime's chamber?"

The ferret hesitated slightly, wondering what the creature had in mind. This turned out to be a bad idea, as he yelped when the blade nicked the side of his neck cruelly. "I'm waiting."

"D-d-dormitories," he said, sobbing by now. "T-top floor, biggest room. Just the one guard, honest!"

He got no further, as the hilt of Tamor's sword rapped him between the ears, knocking him out cold.

The mouse stood, checking to make sure the ferret was really still alive. "Unconscious," he murmured to himself. "But alive. He'll wake up with one monster ache in his head, though."

He left the guard and sprinted across the grounds, dodging between trees and shrubs. The dormitory doors weren't locked, and opened easily. Slipping inside, Tamor immediately went up the stairs. The stone was dirty and covered in a fine layer of dust, and he could have sworn he saw a small speck of blood on one step. He tried to ignore it, ascending the steps so quietly any who saw him would have suspected it was a ghost.

The top floor was one long hallway, which then turned to the right some distance down a ways. Tamor knew that the ferret had been talking about the abbot's bedchambers, which was the largest room in the building. Not because he needed it, but most abbots like to keep a large supply of books and reference material handy and enjoyed the extra space.

Sidling along one wall, Tamor sheathed his blades quietly and drew his bow, notching a long-tipped arrow to the string. _Forgive me for what I am about to do, _He thought to himself.

Spinning around the corner, he drew the string to his ear and sighted along the shaft. There was only the one door at the end of the hallway, just about a stone's throw from Tamor. And there was the guard, tapping the spear against his armored chest plate and trying to stay awake. He noticed some sort of movement at the end of the hall and squinted, leaning forward.

The string snapped against the thick cloth bracer strapped to Tamor's arm. The arrow actually whistled slightly as it split the air, followed not a split second later by a loud metallic punching sound and choked gurgle. The guard actually stumbled back against the wall two paces behind, struck by the force. His shocked eyes fell to the arrow protruding from his left breast, where a small trickle of blood was beginning to flow. Coughing slightly, he fell against the wall.

Tamor reached him as the rat was starting to fade. Looking up at him, the vermin's eyes were still uncomprehending of what had just happened. "Huh?" He murmured before his head fell to his chest.

"I'm sorry." Tamor murmured, placing the bow on his back and silently unsheathing his swords. Turning to the door, he gripped the handle and turned.

The abbot's bedchamber had been turned into an armory. Swords, pikes, axes and hundreds of other weapons hung on the walls and leaned against furniture. Dust and cobwebs permeated the corners of the room, and the smell of burned meat and filth assaulted Tamor's nostrils.

All the meticulously organized bookshelves had been undone, now littered with more weapons, bird carcasses, and candle wax. The only light came from a few candles arrayed around the bed in one corner, which now had blood-red silk curtains hanging from the ceiling around it. Tamor approached cautiously, not daring to breathe or move unnecessarily. The air itself seemed to be intoxicated with the stench of evil as Tamor neared the bedside, and grasped one of the curtains. Summoning all his courage, he yanked the fabric away with a short yell.

The bed was completely empty. Torn, ruined blankets were tossed about, and the pillows were nothing but scraps of feathers. Tamor's mind was racing. _Where is he? Did the guard lie to me? What is going on..._

"I never could enjoy sleeping there, far too formal and constricting." Tamor spun on his heels, bringing the swords up in a flash. There was a figure standing in the shadows where the candle light couldn't reach. The silhouette was huge and foreboding, like a monster from a dibbun's nightmare.

It continued speaking, with a voice so harsh and venom-filled it felt like it was seeping into Tamor's mind. "I much prefer a simple mat so I can lie beneath the window and watch the moon. Much easier to plan that way, much easier to think."

"Show yourself!" Tamor shouted, trying to make his voice sound bigger than it was. "Come out of the shadows and face me!"

Bloodfang's face was the essence of evil pleasure as he stepped into dim candlelight. Blood-red stripes, running in parallel along his face, along with his piercing, burning eyes glared in the ruddy light. The sash he wore was grotesque; made from pelts of different creatures. His huge, burly arms were taut with wire-like muscles and torn fur. When he grinned, his teeth looked to be so sharp that it seemed that they could cut you from across the room.

He chuckled, a cringe-inducing sound. "You creatures must be getting desperate if this is all they could muster. A mouse too young to bring me a cup of wine, their chosen warrior? Hah, I've bested fighters ten times your stature, mouse. And with ten times your amount of meat, I may add."

Tamor was repulsed, but he held his ground and gripped the swords tighter. "You will leave this abbey, Bloodfang, or we will take it from you."

The leopard cackled, bearing his green and yellow teeth. "You, take it from _me? _There has never been a beast that could even wound me in battle, let alone take my possessions and property. You had best run while you can, mouse, before I decide that my supper wasn't enough."

Tamor's rage had finally reached its peak. "You will leave this place, scum, or you will not leave it alive! I am Tamor, son of Tarfor, archer of the east! You killed my father in cold blood and without the courage to do it yourself! Because of you, I lost my father and best friend! For that, you will die!"

Bloodfang grinned again, spreading his paws and beckoning. "You will die like your father, cursing the day he was born and pleading for death."

Roaring with a primitive fury he thought impossible, Tamor leapt at his foe, swinging both of his swords at the leopard's head. Zalluk dodged easily, scratching him with a claw as Tamor's weight carried him past. "Tisk tisk, you'll have to do better than that, warrior." he spat the last word like a curse. Tamor turned, breathing hatred between clenched teeth, and charged again. This time a massive paw swept upwards and caught him under the jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. Trying to blink away the stars, Tamor got to his knees and watched as Zalluk picked up a straight-bladed broadsword, swinging it like a toy in one paw. "I tire of these games, mouse. Prepare yourself for death."

Tamor hardly had time to fall to the side as Zalluk brought the blade crashing down, sending huge chunks of stone flying. Rolling out of the way of another blow, Tamor stood and dodged a strike so fast that he could only see a blur as the weapon swept by. He saw a brief opening and struck, slashing Zalluk above his right paw. A streak of blood landed on the floor. Zalluk roared, clenching the sword in both paws as his eyes bulged in hatred. "Nobeast dares to touch Bloodfang and live!" The sword came crashing down again, with such force that the solid blade shattered in two like a stick. Tamor readied himself as Zalluk threw the useless hilt away and reached for a scimitar. "Come to me, mouse, and I will teach you the meaning of pain!"

Tamor caught the swing with both of his swords, the blow so intense it seemed to shake his teeth in their sockets. Grinding edge against edge, Tamor used Zalluk's own leverage against him and managed an overhead strike. The leopard easily caught the blow, kicking Tamor in the chest. He collapsed, coughing and trying to breathe past two broken ribs. All he could do was roll out of the way as Zalluk attacked again. Now Tamor's back was against the window, three stories above the abbey grounds. He knew he had no fight left in him as Zalluk swung again. But as he stumbled feebly to avoid the blow, his footpaws fell out from under him and he fell from the window.

Tamor's mind flashed back to the side of the cliff and the sense of terror he had felt looking down. But for whatever reason, that fear wasn't present as he fell. Perhaps it was the peace in knowing that death was coming, that he would see his father again. Closing his eyes, he smiled.

The thick branches of an elm tree broke and shattered under his weight, cracking so loudly that it echoed across the grounds. He was finally stopped by a dense strawberry bush, still coated in new buds. As pain lanced through his body, Tamor crawled out of the bush and coughed, tasting blood. Thoughts were bursting and swelling like bubbles in his mind, completely random and nonsensical.

A sound cut through the haze choking his brain. Something else crashed through the elm tree, followed by a howl of pain and then a thud. Tamor staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily as he faced his enemy.

Zalluk seemed injured as well. One arm hung limp at his side, completely useless. His face was coated with blood and one leg seemed to be dragging. He hissed through a mouth half-full of broken teeth. "You will die, mouse! Slowly, painfully, begging for mercy! You will die like your father!"

_No, you will not. _The voice was not Tamor's, but it was ringing through his head clear as day. _Today is not your time. Now rise and face this scum._

Feeling a burst of strength flood his veins, Tamor clutched his swords and spat at Zalluk's feet. "Face me, you disgusting excuse for a creature! Come and meet me!"

Bloodfang threw his head back and roared, cutting through the sounds of fighting all around them. Tamor suddenly noticed the sight of an otter running across the grounds, holding a shield and spear. _Grace and Raylim, they must have gotten to the abbey beasts! They must have gotten them out!_

He had no further time for thought, however, as Zalluk charged. Once again their blades clashed, ringing and scraping as they continued their attack in a whirlwind of deadly steel and flailing limbs. Every time Tamor caught a blow with his sword, it sent a jarring impact up his arm and into his shoulder. Soon it seemed as though he could hardly lift the weapons, that all was lost. But suddenly, he noticed something.

Zalluk was getting tired.

His movements seemed more sluggish, like he was swinging through water. A final wave of adrenaline shot into Tamor's chest. Zalluk swung once and missed, digging his sword blade into the ground with a thud. Tamor pounced, bringing both down swords in a criss-crossing arc. The Leopard roared in pain as two gaping wounds opened up on his arm and part of his chest, spraying blood. He tried to focus on the mouse darting around him, but everything seemed blurry. Attacking only half-heartedly, he missed and collapsed to his knees, dropping his weapon. Before he could blink, there was a sword point at his throat.

"Pick up your sword," Tamor spat. "I will not face an unarmed beast."

This was what Zalluk was waiting for. Feigning weakness, he grasped the hilt of the curved sword unsteadily and then swung. He was sure he hit something, until a cold, jarring pain rippled across his chest. Trying to fight off a sudden rush of tiredness, he swung again and made contact with something. But as another jolt of pain lanced through his body, he looked down. Two swords, embedded into his breast. Blood was flowing freely as one of the blades was drawn from him with an agonizing slowness, taking the very breath from his body with it.

Tamor lifted the sword, staring into the pain and shock-stricken eyes of Bloodfang. "I made my pledge, and now I fulfill it."

And then he swung his blade in a silver arc, the motion stopped a short while later in Zalluk's neck. With a final groan, the vermin fell to the ground in a heap as blood leaked from his mouth. Bloodfang's name was now more than a simple title: it was his epitaph as the scarlet fluid passed between his lips.

Tamor stood over the corpse, watching the final light fade from his eyes. As they went dark, he yanked the blades from the body. Without even bothering to wipe them clean, he thrust them back into the sheath and made to stand.

A searing pain sent him to his knees. Gasping for breath as stars popped in his vision, Tamor's paw drifted to his chest. It came away wet. The world spun, like it was tilting over on itself.

A fresh wave of agony came over him as he tasted blood in his mouth. He coughed; the action feeling like it would split him in two. Something dripped onto the ground as he tried to regain balance, but the world seemed to be falling apart and darkening at its edges. As he fell onto his back and stared at the early morning sky, the sounds of battle began to fade, like they were coming from the end of a long tunnel. He tried to rise again but failed, collapsing.

Somebeast was calling him, he wasn't sure who. At first he was sure it was Joeb or his father, beckoning for him to join them. He yearned to go with them, to rest and to stop the burning, searing pain tearing him apart. But a face swam into view, a real one. It was Grace, saying his name and motioning to another. Tamor felt like his body was gripped by some fever as she knelt by his side.

"Grace," he whispered, smiling as the words escaped him. "You're here."

"Tamor, no! Don't do this, you can't!" She seemed to be crying, almost shouting. Somebeast knelt down next to him, he wasn't sure who. All he could see was Grace's deep emerald-green eyes, staring into his own as he felt the world beginning to slip away. "I have to go home, Grace," he murmured, finding her paw and clasping it in his. "I have to see Joeb; I have to see my father."

"No, Tamor! Just hold on!" She was shaking now, ignoring the other creature as they sprinted off. Tamor could hardly see anything now, except for Grace's beautiful features surrounded by a creeping fog of darkness. Her lips trembled as she cried out through her sobs "I don't want you to leave, Tamor! Please, don't! I...I love you!"

Tamor's paw drifted up to her face, caressing her cheek. A solitary tear escaped his cloudy eyes as a few words whispered through Tamor's blood-stained lips. "I love you too, Grace." His eyes started to shut. "I always will."

His paw went limp, and a final breath left him as everything went dark.


	8. Chapter 8 Epilogue

IT'S DONE! I want to thank everyone who has read the story, and especially to those who have reviewed as well. I wouldn't have been able to get anywhere if it wasn't for the constructive criticism and advice people have given me. Last chapter, hope you all enjoyed! This one was really fun to write, I've got to say. Like I said, a lot of the characters are based on me or people I know. So for those of you still wondering about the last chapter, here you go! Season of the Archer, the epilogue.

* * *

Autumn had descended over Mossflower, whisking away the green and freshness of summer with every shade of red and brown one could think of. The trees were shedding their leaves like a blanket, turning the earth into a matrix of hues. A few puffy rain clouds were gently rolling across the sky, but they wouldn't begin their drenching for at least a day. For the moment, the sun still shone above their heads, the kind of afternoon that made everybeast lazy as could be and want to stay inside with a nice plate of scones.

As luck would have it, that was what most of the abbey-dwellers were doing. They had just finished another long day of cleaning, scrubbing away the memory and stench of the vermin who had long since left. Most of them had simply fled in the attack, realizing their leader was dead and no hope was left. But that still left their atrocious stench and living conditions behind.

Grace and Raylim had done what they needed to. Sneaking past the few guards, they had freed the residents of Redwall and told them what was going on. They were quick to action, even though many were not fighters. Most of the otters, a few squirrels, and even a few other creatures all grabbed whatever weapons they could and broke out, quickly overwhelming the vermin after they saw their leader fall.

The Great Hall was buzzing with activity as the dibbuns played and enjoyed themselves, while the older beasts sat down with a fine tankard of October ale, or elderberry wine. The golden sunlight of another late fall day was glinting through the windows as the last workers came inside, wiping sweat from their brows and quickly finding a place among their friends.

Grace managed to squeeze in next to Raylim, who had just finished digging a new plot for strawberries. Handing him a beaker of cranberry cordial, she laughed as he chugged it down in one gulp. "Slow down, or you might get a stomachache and I'd have to send you to the infirmary!"

He feigned a grimace, holding up his paws. "Oh, please spare me! Anything but the infirmary! Speaking of which, doesn't a certain beast need supper? Some of the kitchen workers said they'd give him the first batch, since he's been healing so well."

Grace nodded, getting up from the bench. "I suppose I could do that, even though all he's been doing it laying about all day." She caught a look from her friend. "Oh, you know I'm only joking! He needs his rest. I'll bring him some food."

After speaking with a few of the kitchen beasts, she started upstairs with a tray full of potato and leek soup, scones, and a few cheese slices. They were fresh from the wheel, only cut that day.

Knocking on a door quietly, she entered the infirmary room. Only one of the beds was taken, just a few away from the door. The mouse lying on the clean white linen had a bandage running around his head, and also wrapped around his left leg. There was another one under his shirt, which Grace checked before handing him the food. "Your chest wound seems to be healing well. How about that leg?"

Tamor nodded as he took a bite of the cheese. "It feels fine, thanks to you." He smiled, trying to flutter his eyelashes a bit.

Grace laughed and shook her head. "Flattery won't get you out of this bed any sooner. You heard the sisters, no moving out of that mattress for another week."

Groaning like a dibbun who couldn't get his dessert, Tamor crossed his arms testily. "I'm fine, honest! I can move both my legs, and my chest has been healed for almost two weeks. Are you sure I can't go downstairs to eat?"

Smiling, Grace kissed his forehead which promptly sent a rush of color into his cheeks. "No, you can't. But," She sat down on the edge of the bed, plucking a scone off the tray. "I suppose I could eat up here, if that's alright with you?"

Tamor couldn't stop the small smile that spread over his face. "I suppose that'd be alright." After a moment of silence, he looked back up. "Thank you, Grace. It can get lonely up here."

She rubbed his paw and smiled. "Of course, Tamor. Do you mind if I ask you something?"

Taking a bite of a scone, he shrugged. "Not at all."

"Do you remember..." She shifted a little; obviously apprehensive to ask whatever it was she wanted to. "Do you remember what you said that night you fought Bloodfang, before you almost- I mean, before you fell unconscious?"

He nodded, the memory actually sending a tingle through the scars on his leg and chest. "Yes."

Grace twiddled her paws and stared at the floor. "Did you...did you mean it?"

Tamor was silent for a moment, before setting his food aside and grasping her paw in his. "I did, with all my heart."

Their eyes met, and before he could say anything, she kissed him. Not just a simple peck, but a real, bonding symbol of trust. Leaning back, Grace couldn't help but smile at the look of astonishment on his face. "Thank you," she whispered.

Tamor tried to respond, but was having trouble speaking with the flood of emotions and thoughts running through his head. Finally, he was able to murmur. "You're welcome."

They sat in awkward silence for a little while before Grace noticed the strip of cloth he had tied around his wrist. "What is that?" She asked, fingering the rough canvas.

Untying it, Tamor held up the small picture of Tamdril, clutching his swords and pointing onward. "It's my father," he said, smiling. "I still can't believe..." his voice drifted off.

"Can't believe what?"

He blinked away a tear. "I was living in shame and dishonor my entire life, Grace. Now that I know what I am, what I was always destined to become, it's like a weight is off my chest. I've done what my father tasked to me."

Grace knew she didn't have to say anything, so she simply stood and gave him another small kiss before walking out of the infirmary, closing the door gently behind her. Tamor gazed at the cloth one more time before folding and clutching it tightly. "Thank you, father." He said, looking out of the window and staring at the golden forest lay before him

Tamor closed his eyes briefly, opening them after a single tear fell from one. He was not shamed; he was not one to disgrace his family and heritage.

He was a warrior, he was an archer.

An archer of the east.


End file.
